prologue

Long, slender fingers -- fingers that played the piano and wrote with flowing script, fingers that shook hands firmly but held microphones gingerly -- tore into the contents of a compact suitcase.

Where is it, where is it; I know I took it with me...

Searching frantically, they finally brushed against the target, the smooth leather binding cool against slightly clammy fingertips. King James Version. His family's personal favourite. He hadn't read from it in ages, yet he took it with him every time they went on tour; just in case.

He gingerly flipped through the gilt-edged pages, through the first few books of the Old Testament, searching for the statement so frequently used to damn others. He wanted to see it for himself.

Uncleanness... sacrifices... unlawful sexual relations.

And there it was. Leviticus 18:22. "Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination."

Lance hadn't expected it to bother him quite as much as it did when he finally saw the words. Not that he'd lain with "mankind" anyway. He had lain with "womankind", though, even though he knew that was another no-no as long as he remained unmarried. It had been more a test for himself than anything else, at any rate. He wondered if God would note the difference.

Yeah, well, I'm not supposed to work on the Sabbath, either, and I do that too, so...

He knew that there was more, and skipped the main body of the text to Romans. 1:27. "And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet."

He didn't even know what half of that meant, but he was pretty sure that it was condemning the way he felt.

It was so easy for him to be accepting of homosexuality in theory; to be supportive of a friend as they struggled with coming out, or to dismiss what the Bible had to say about homosexuality out of hand altogether. Lance's particular brand of Christianity, weathered through hard years in the music industry and personal compromises, was more about forgiveness and less about sticking with a set of rules. You did your best, and when you messed up you apologized, and that was essentially the point.

But that didn't mean that there weren't taboos, and homosexuality was one of them. So many churches could overlook gossip, dishonesty, adultery, pre-marital sex and children born out of wedlock, but if you were gay... well, that was an entirely different monster.

He supposed the thing that hurt was the permanence of it. You could stop lying, stop cheating on your wife, stop sleeping with groupies. He would never be able to stop being gay. It was suddenly painful, leaving the realm of theory and entering the world of reality, of being faced with the prospect of living a life that so many considered worthy of hell just by virtue of his very nature. He didn't believe that he was going to hell -- he'd never been able to wrap his mind around the concept that loving a person could be a sin -- but he supposed that the taboo was why he'd taken so long to come to terms with the way he was.

He supposed it was why he'd somehow been able to ignore the... well, it had been a crush, he knew it now -- that he'd had on Jeremy Watkins, back in the 9th grade. Back when he told himself that it was only envy and admiration he'd felt for the sophomore football player with the overly mature, muscular body. For the way Jeremy's shaggy blond hair fell into his eyes and he had to periodically toss it back in that way that all the girls loved. Or Mark Smith, with the plain name but the startlingly beautiful features, sandy hair, and tall, lanky frame, who was a senior when Lance had just started junior year. Just before *NSYNC.

And what had it been with the blonds, anyway; he was so influenced by his fascination with the color that he'd tinted his own hair and tried growing out that dreadful bowl cut that his mother insisted on giving him herself every two months. The girls didn't find it so endearing when he tossed his hair out of his eyes. He didn't want them to. Mark, though; he would have killed to have Mark notice. Just for the attention, he told himself. Maybe for some protection against the kids who shot him sidelong glances in the hallway. Certainly not because he found Mark to be... handsome. Certainly not that.

And now. This latest one, who shattered Lance's previous track record of checking out the blonds, so amazing was he. And it was all wrong. Too close. Too public. Too... intense.

There was a bang on his hotel door. "Hey, Lance," JC called through the thick wooden paneling. "You done unpacking yet? Me and Bobbie are gonna go check out the restaurant in the lounge for some lunch. You wanna come?"

And he was too taken.

Lance tossed the beautiful, leather-bound, gilt-edged, poetic, damning book back into his suitcase and zipped the bag up. "Yeah; I could use a break. I'm coming."

one

Admitting his homosexuality to himself had been the easy part; after all, it was something he'd pretty much known all along, even if he wasn't ready to accept it. Telling others, however, would prove to be more challenging.

For the first little while after coming out to himself, Lance was almost obsessed -- gleeful, even -- revelling in the new-found comfort that he felt within his own skin. It expressed itself in unexpected ways; in the odd sexual innuendo, in his own joking portrayals of the gay stereotype. It was so much easier to own the stereotypes once he was no longer afraid that they would define him.

Eventually, however, even he recognized that it was going too far.

He was doing a press conference by phone with Joey, to promote the upcoming album, when someone posed a question about Ricky Martin's sexuality. Lance didn't know for sure if Ricky was gay; he'd heard the rumours of course, but knew from personal experience that rumours were rarely worth the paper on which they were printed.

Still, the question stirred a memory of when he'd seen Ricky at one of the MTV Video Music Awards afterparties months earlier. After Lance had had six or seven too many drinks, the Latin singer had somehow caught and held his gaze from across the room. Ricky had given him a knowing smile, raising his glass in a half-salute, before turning away, and Lance hadn't seen him again that night. But the look had haunted him.
What the hell did Ricky know? Lance had wondered at the time, but now he suspected that he did know.

Before the censor in his brain could kick in, he began to speak. "I think if he came out and was honest with everybody no one would care. I really don't think it's anyone's business, but I think we're now in an age where no one really cares anymore. It's so out there now, people have gotten so used to it; it's not gonna matter and several people have proved that already."

He wanted it to be true, so he said it in the hopes that it would become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Joey called him on it later, phoning him directly almost as soon as the interview was over. "What the hell was that Ricky Martin thing about?" he demanded gently. "Do you wanna know the only time an entertainer can get away with being gay and not lose their fans?"

Lance cringed; at his own statement -- which he'd hoped that no one would attempt to analyze while knowing that everyone would do just that -- as well as the implication in Joey's voice. "When's that?" he asked dumbly.

"When they're old or ugly and no one thinks they're sexy anyway. Think about it. Look at Elton John; look at Liberace. You think all those girls who throw their shirts onstage for Ricky would wanna go see him if they knew he was more interested in their boyfriends?"

Lance massaged his aching temple with his free hand. He knew that; really, he did. He'd been careless with his words, and if Joey of all people was chiding him for what he'd said, then PR were going to have a field day with it. He knew that it was the building pressure of having this immense... secret to keep to himself, and not having a single soul with which to share it.

He'd have to tell someone, and soon.

His parents... could wait. They had every right to know, of course; their only son was never going to bring home a lovely lady and pass along the Bass name, after all. They were religious enough -- certainly more than he was, now -- but they'd always been rather open-minded and non-judgemental, and he hadn't been raised to believe that homosexuality was some kind of horrible affliction. He didn't think that they would react too negatively, but he would really rather postpone that experience until the last possible moment.

That left the other guys, and that at least was a much more relaxing prospect. At least he knew that they would be okay with whatever he threw their way. Not only because they had gay friends and crew members and the others had always been all right with that, but also because he knew that his groupmates had his back no matter what. He could approach them and say, "Um, it seems that I'm growing a third nipple out of my forehead," and after the requisite jokes, they would immediately jump in with "We'll cover for you, man," and that would be that.

Still, the thought of a group meeting -- "Good morning, fellas; I'm gay" -- was unappealing. The fact of the matter was that Lance didn't enjoy being put on the spot, and as close as the group was, this wasn't the sort of topic he felt like addressing with four pairs of eyes staring inquisitively at him, each with their own set of questions. He'd feel much better if he tackled it on a one-on-one basis, and he considered that carefully over the next couple of days while they didn't have any appearances scheduled.

He supposed that he had the least to lose with Chris. It wasn't that they weren't particularly close; well, they weren't particularly close. But his coming out would probably affect their relationship the least -- maybe as a result of their distance. Possibly his greatest concern about coming out was not an issue here; Chris wasn't the type to use something against a person in anger, or make fun of something important to them. Not that the others would, but with Chris Lance knew that the dynamic between them would remain completely the same. Chris simply wouldn't joke about something like this, and that was something about him that Lance had always liked -- Chris knew when to be serious, even if he was lightening the mood a moment later. Lance needed that now more than anything else, so he supposed that Chris might be the best place to start.

Justin's reaction was a little more difficult to predict. He and Justin weren't tight, but they shared a lot of the same philosophies and ideas about life. In many ways to date one was to date the other, since Justin would often confide in Lance and seek advice regarding a relationship, and Lance with Justin. Lance suspected that initially Justin would mostly be curious; he would be fascinated and have dozens of questions, but after he got used to the idea he would move on and things would be the way they'd always been between the two of them -- right down to the relationship advice.

With Joey, things would definitely change. Lance smirked just thinking about it. Either Joey would be trying to point out the good-looking guys at a club, or he would pause while watching a movie and ask what Lance thought of the male lead, or he would make crude side-comments about Lance's sex life. But he would also likely stop considering Lance privy to his own escapades with dates; the locker-talk would stop, and they would lose that aspect of their friendship. Lance would miss it. He was reluctant to let that go, so Joey was regrettably relegated to the tail end of his confessional list.

As for JC... the only reason that Lance felt he had something to lose was because of his growing crush. JC had been pretty up front from the beginning about his own bisexuality. He never acted on it, but from time to time he could appreciate the appearance of a handsome man. Joey had tried to set him up on one occasion with a guy he'd run into at a gay club, but JC had simply laughed as he turned him down. "I'm more than satisfied with the pussy I get, thanks," he'd said, far more crass while drunk than sober.

Lance sometimes wondered if JC had ever found him attractive, even for a fleeting moment. In fact, it was almost completely the source of his trepidation; coming out to JC was akin to saying that he was free and available -- even if JC wasn't. Although he didn't expect JC to have any romantic interest in him, he did sort of hope that JC would see him in a new light after all was said and done. Even if it was only for a flicker of approval, the way JC would give a girl he'd been checking out at the bar. Lance had never had a man look at him that way, and if JC could be the first, even if nothing came of it... well, that was all he could ask for. To not get that look wouldn't exactly be akin to rejection, but it would hurt nonetheless, and that meant that there was a substantial risk. Lance wanted to put that off for as long as possible; he needed to build his courage for that one. Therefore, JC would be last.

It was only a couple of weeks later that the group found themselves sharing a hotel floor again, while they were in New York rehearsing for their taping of Saturday Night Live. Once the room-claiming arguments had been resolved, Lance hung back, keeping an eye on Chris, who was simutaneously attempting to unfold his cell phone and unlock his hotel room door. The older man glanced up, sensing that he was not alone in the hallway. "What, you forget what room is yours or something?"

Lance smiled and shook his head. "1712," he called, holding up his key card as he strode over to meet him. "Do you have any plans right now, Chris?" he asked, biting the inside of his lip as he awaited a response. Suddenly, he was nervous, and leaned against the wall, folding his arms so that Chris wouldn't see him fidget.

Chris finally got the door to open agreeably and straddled the threshhold. "Well, I've got a phone call to make, but I didn't have anything in mind right away, no. How come?"

"Do you wanna do something? Just you and me?"

Chris tucked in his chin, a little taken aback at that. He thought about it for a moment, shifting his weight from one leg to the other repeatedly as he studied the ceiling with apparent fascination. "Did you bring your rollerblades?"

He grinned. "I did."

"Then how about you meet me in the lobby in 45? I just gotta finish up this call, okay?" At Lance's nod, Chris gave a little wave of farewell and stepped fully inside of his room, allowing the door to shut behind him. Lance turned and made his way to his own room, unpacking to pass the time and trying to think of precisely how he wanted this to go. He wondered if there was an instructional manual, and if he'd have time to buy it if there was.

two

Somehow he and Chris managed to pursuade a couple of bodyguards to accompany them to a nearby trail so that they could have the run of the road for a short time. Of course, they had to promise that they wouldn't skate out of hollering range, which rendered half of the trail inaccessible. "Look; it's late, it's dark, it's New York, and NBC owns you for the week," Mike told them sternly. "I'm not even supposed to let you out of my sight. Don't make me break out my leash, now."

And with his helmet and wrist, elbow, and knee guards, Chris did sort of resemble a child who needed to be leashed.

It was obvious that he was curious about why Lance had wanted to go out with him, but to his credit didn't say a thing to indicate it. By the second half-run up the trail, Chris was already bored and attempting tricks. "Come 'ere, Lance; lemme show you how to do a spin," he called over his shoulder, then demonstrated, giving a little leap at the end. He spread his arms out to the sides and waited for Lance to meet up with him.

Lance gave a slight shake of his head. "No, thanks; that's okay. Show me some other time. When it's daylight, preferably," he added.

Chris shrugged. "Suit yourself." He performed several more spins in succession, each carrying him further down the path, and Lance had to slow down to keep from running into him. "Whoa, dizzy. You sure you don't wanna try this?"

No, but hey -- guess what? I'm gay.

"Um... you know, I don't really feel like messing around tonight. I just kinda wanted to... spend some time with you."

Chris stopped spinning and wobbled for a moment before commencing skating backwards, giving the odd glance over his shoulder to check for obstructions. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Lance made a large gesture of shrugging. "Things are gonna get really hectic in a second, so... we're not gonna have a lot of time for this for long."

"We don't get a lot of one-on-one time, you and me," Chris agreed.

"And we hardly ever talk anymore," Lance put in. He watched Chris do some fancy stepping to avoid tripping over an unexpected twig in his path, and fought a smile. Drawing a deep breath, he took advantage of the pause to skate closer to his partner. "Chris, I'm gay," he blurted, then swallowed thickly. "I wanted to tell you."

There was only the barest of pauses before Chris nodded. "Uh huh?" he said simply, turning and giving another series of spins.

Lance slowed and pressed his lips together, arms hanging limply by his sides. "Yeah," he murmured. He wasn't exactly sure whether to be relieved or hurt by Chris's dismissal. He guessed he was a little bit of both.

Chris noticed, eventually, that Lance wasn't keeping up when he spun again and faced him. He stopped immediately. "What?" he bellowed, a little too loud to simply cover the distance between them.

Lance shook his head. "Nothin'," he muttered, and caught himself blinking too rapidly. He wondered if he was being overdramatic, but Chris was the first person he'd told. He just thought... well, some support would be nice.

Chris cocked his head and brought his hands to his hips. "What? You're gay. You expected me to make a big deal out of it? It's not a big deal, Lance." He started skating back towards him. "How long have you known?"

Lance stopped entirely and swung one foot back and forth, allowing the wheels to glide easily over the pavement. He shrugged uneasily, folding his arms across his chest. "Like, a few months. Since Hawaii, I guess." Wonderful, idyllic, beautiful Hawaii, where he'd slept with Danielle one last time, even though they'd been broken up for months and she was seeing someone else. It was wrong, but they'd always had a sexual chemistry that neither could ignore. It had been quick, it had been furtive, it had been the middle of the day -- and it had done absolutely nothing for him.
His eyelashes continued to beat out a quick pattern against his cheeks.

"Only since then?" Chris asked, as though he'd been expecting a completely different response, and Lance eyed him carefully for signs of sarcasm. He didn't find any. "Do your parents know?" Chris went on, and Lance shook his head. "But the other guys...." he trailed off as Lance shook his head again. The older man drew closer and peered at him, completely serious now. And then suddenly, as if on impulse, he was pulling Lance into a tight hug, squeezing him with comfort and affection all at once. Lance stumbled slightly on his skates before he returned the embrace, and finally acknowledged that his eyes were indeed a little moist.

"Sorry," Chris whispered into his ear, not loosening his grip in the least.

Lance shrugged again, for a lack of anything else to do. "It's okay."

Chris pulled back then, shaking his head. "No," he explained. "I thought you told everyone else already, and I didn't wanna make a big thing out of it because I figured you probably had enough of that to deal with, so I thought I'd be making it easier on you if I just acted like it was nothing. I mean," he corrected himself, "it's still nothing, but I just didn't know you didn't tell anyone before, and..." he stopped abruptly and took a deep breath. "It must've been hard, Lance. Thanks for trusting me," he said finally. "Are you okay?"

Lance smiled in response; he'd managed to make Chris babble. All things considered, he'd have to remember this one. "I'm fine, thanks. And it was easier than I thought, actually," he admitted.

"Well, if you need to talk, or whatever," Chris began, still facing him but skating slowly away, "if anybody gives you a hard time about it or anything. You know." He shrugged. "Let me know what I can do."

Starting to skate forward himself, Lance met up with him easily. "Thanks; I will."

Chris nodded. "Then I'll race ya back to the gate," he grunted, and was off. Lance started to protest, indignant, before simply sprinting to catch up. That would be the last he'd hear on the topic unless he brought it up again, he knew.

When they got back to the hotel, Lance felt grimy and sweaty and achy and wonderful. The first thing he saw when he got out of the elevator was JC turning away from a hotel door to head in the other direction. He was about to call out to him, but Chris was faster.

"Yo, Chasez! What's up?"

JC turned and gave them both a wide grin, jogging down the hall to meet them halfway. "Yeah, hey! I was just about to ask you if you wanted to watch some Monty Python I rented," he breathed, holding up a couple of videos.

"You got Monty Python for tonight?" Chris asked, incredulous, as he pulled his helmet off. JC nodded, stating the obvious, and Chris snorted in disgust. "Look, JC, I can't do that tonight... Jesus, I got work up to the eyeballs that I put off to go skating just now, and I gotta take care of that before I go to bed. So, raincheck, okay?"

"No problem," JC agreed, and as Chris left them both for his own room he turned his attention to Lance. "Well, hey, Joey and Justin were talking about hittin' a club, and I know you don't like Monty Python so much, so probably if you shower real quick you can go out with them."

Lance's mouth worked wordlessly for a moment. "So, what, you're just gonna watch it by yourself?"

JC shrugged, leading the way as he headed back down the hallway. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, it's still funny, right? I'll just curl up in bed and pop in the tapes and go to sleep right after."

"Well, I'll watch it with you; I mean, I don't really feel like going out after I've just been skating all over the place." It was true; he was tired and wouldn't mind just lying around. But that had never prevented him from going out to a club before.

Still, the look that lit up JC's face then brought a smile to his own. "Oh, are you serious? 'Cause, I mean--"

"No, seriously," Lance assured him. "I just... feel really gross, so can I get a shower and I'll meet you in your room?"

JC was nodding furiously. "Yeah; yeah, sure. 1716, all right?"

It was a date.

Unlike JC, Lance found Monty Python to be funny only about half of the time. The other half he didn't care much for. Actually, if he were being completely honest, he thought it was stupid.

JC had somehow managed to rent four hours of Stupid.

"...Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, and Spam."

Oh, God, please let it end. He'd passed up clubbing for this. He'd passed up clubbing for this.

Lance dozed off and on through the next three episodes, hanging his arms and head off the edge of the bed where he lay on his stomach. Eventually the blood pooling in his fingers caused a mild throbbing that he found fascinating. He wiggled them and twisted his hands until he could see where his veins protruded from his skin in the light from the television. JC, stretched out on his side on the floor before the tv, was having a great time by himself, and who was Lance to interfere? After some time, he found himself admiring JC's silhouette; the line of muscle in his bicep was still clearly visible and stood out sharply against the screen; his narrow waist dipped in smoothly before flaring out again where it met his hips....

He didn't remember JC turning off the television, or turning the lights back on, but he felt the give of the springs when JC sat down next to his shoulder. JC flicked at his ear playfully. "Okay, okay; it wasn't that bad. Come on, it's over."

Lance yawned mightily and wiggled down the bed to provide his arms with support. He couldn't feel them anymore. "Did I fall asleep?" he asked, closing his eyes again before he received a response.

"Yes, and you suck," JC said, flicking his earlobe again. Lance groaned; he couldn't even lift his arm to defend himself. "You couldn't even pretend you were having fun?" He flicked yet again.

"Quit it," Lance mumbled, referring to the treatment of his ear, eyes still closed. He attempted to duck his head away, but JC followed his motions easily, giving one more flick before pulling his hand back. "I was having fun," he continued, stifling another yawn. Dreaming about you.... JC poked him just below the armpit, and he jolted reflexively.

"No," JC began soothingly, but with an undertone of malice in his voice, "no... see, you said you'd stay up and watch Monty Python with me." He poked again, ignoring Lance's huff of protest. "And you fell asleep on me. How can you have fun if you're asleep?" He trailed his fingers down Lance's side and poked him in the waist.

Lance didn't like where this was going. "JC..." he said warily, suddenly very awake. JC wasn't even looking at him, instead eyeing his waist mischievously, and Lance wished that the pins and needles in his arms would subside before JC could enact any form of torture.

It was a futile hope, when one thought about it, and in seconds JC had pounced, fingers wriggling violently against his lower back and just above his hips. Lance yelped loudly and attempted to roll over to escape before remembering that his stomach was even more sensitive than his back. "Go-hod," he gasped, giggling quite uncontrollably now, pulling his knees up feebly. "Sto-hop... ple-hease, qui-hit!"

JC shruggged, not pausing for a moment. "I just wanna make sure you're having fun. Are you having fun, Lance?" He grunted when Lance kicked out desperately and made contact with his ribcage, but easily dodged the next attempt. And while Lance's knees were up, JC could hardly resist taking a few jabs at the sensitive spots behind those knees. He didn't let up until the first tears began to leak from the corners of Lance's eyes -- squeezed shut long moments ago -- and the blond was too weak to even evade his offence.

"Ahhh," he breathed, removing his hands and situating himself more comfortably on the bedspread. "I think you've had enough."

"I h... hate you so...ho... much."

Lance unfolded himself and lay perfectly still, sprawled on his back on the spacious bed, as he attempted to steady his breathing. He reached up with a still-tingling arm to scratch his cheek, then dropped his hand to join the other, clasping them on his stomach. His face felt hot from the exertion, and he knew that he was flushed. JC studied him for a moment before speaking up again.

"You know, you look like you just got laid."

Lord! Where did that come from?

Lance laughed in response, keeping his gaze on the ceiling. "How would you know what that looked like?" If he weren't already flushed, his blush would be apparent by now.

He felt JC shrug before the older man lay down beside him on the bed at a diagonal, their heads touching. "Because I know that look. That's the look you'd get when you'd meet up with us at a club after you would hook up with Danielle back at the hotel." JC stretched his arms above his head before bringing them both down again. "We always knew, you know; we just never told you we knew."

Lance stuck his tongue in his cheek, feeling slightly self-conscious. "I was that obvious, huh?"

"Very," JC acknowledged. "Plus, it was in the way you moved. You always got this really smooth glide to the way you walked. And you danced better, too. Even now I can even tell when you've had a girl up to your room from the way you move that night." He paused as if in thought. "You should get laid before every show -- or, you know... whatever," he suggested, laughing slightly.

Lance chuckled too, considering. He'd actually recognized that about himself; once he'd had an orgasm it was as though something loosened up in his hips and he actually felt fluid for a while afterwards. He'd noticed that the group's choreography came more easily to him on nights like those, but he'd never considered planning his sex life around concerts before. Not like he'd have the opportunity to do that anymore, anyway. It would be easy enough to take care of things himself, as JC had noted, but he didn't want it that badly.

He picked at his shirt, wondering idly why he'd never noticed anything like that about JC. Because I don't want to think about him having sex with anyone, he thought grimly. "Do the other guys still know about me?" he asked, morbidly curious.

He felt JC's head shake against his. "Nah, I think I'm the only one that still has the special touch," he joked.

Lance wondered why JC still noticed.

three

New York, again. This time, *NSYNC was in town to promote the premiere of No Strings Attached, and had had a flurry of activities centered around March 21st and the MTV studios. They'd spent so much time in the city that the guys began to joke that they should simply buy out an apartment and stay there when they were in town, rather than spend the time in hotels.

Management, unable to tell when the guys were simply kidding, was considering.

But now it was almost time to go; they had a couple of engagements in Toronto, and had been given time back at the hotel to pack. Lance was already finished, but didn't plan to meet up with the others just yet. He lay back on his bed molding a stress toy within his fingers, and willed the throbbing in his sprained ankle to go away; the painkillers he'd taken in the morning were steadily wearing off. He was tempted to take a couple of codeine tablets to knock him out, but with the upcoming flight he knew it would go straight to his head and he couldn't handle feeling that out of it.

He was also waiting for Justin to finish up with his own packing. He'd given the younger man a call when they got back from MTV, asking him to stop by to talk, and Justin had readily agreed. Lance just wanted to get things over with sooner rather than later; he'd intended to tell Justin before the special they'd done for MTV that Saturday, but had chickened out at the last minute. He was still a little disappointed in himself for that. Still, this way Justin would have the flight to Toronto and the entire evening there to question him and adjust, and their press conference wasn't scheduled until the next afternoon, either. That would buy them even more time to sort things out between them, if they needed it.

When Justin arrived, he tried the door first, not bothering to knock; as always when expecting company, Lance had left it unlocked. The 19-year old breezed in, a wad of gum stretching his cheek out to the side. "All packed," he announced, bounding onto the bed in a graceful parody of a belly-flop, and Lance had to grab the nightstand to keep from being propelled over the side. "You okay?" Justin inquired, gesturing to the stress toy Lance clutched. "All this press getting to you already?"

I wish it was only that, Lance thought ruefully, as he set the malleable plastic aside. "No, actually, I've had something on my mind lately and I wanted to talk to you about it."

Justin sobered up immediately, pulling himself into a sitting position and watching Lance intently. "Oh, yeah; sure. If you think I can help you out, or... hey, I'll listen. What's the problem?" He reached out and touched Lance's forearm comfortingly, returning the smile when Lance grinned rather nervously at him.

"'Kay. Um, Justin... remember when we were doing the New Years' shows in Hawaii, and I started spending all that time with Danielle, and you said I should give it one more try with her 'cause I shouldn't let something like that go unless I was sure?"

Justin watched him play with his hands with amused interest. "Yeah?" was all he said.

"And then," Lance went on, "we spent the afternoon together, and I told you I didn't feel anything, so it was over?"

Justin nodded with a growing impatience, raising his eyebrows as a signal that Lance should continue.

"Well," Lance sighed, sliding his injured leg off the bed and leaning forward onto his elbows. "I got to thinking that... maybe it wasn't because I had a problem with Danielle specifically." That, and I started crushing on my bandmate. God. Lance stared hard at Justin and prayed that somehow he would make a logical leap and figure it out on his own.

But Justin was shaking his head slowly, brow furrowed in thought. "No.... No, Lance, I'm not following you here. I missed somethin'. Back up. You were with Danielle but you didn't have a problem with her..."

Lance considered getting up to pace before deciding that it was too distracting. He was also slightly afraid that he'd throw open the door and attempt to escape if he let himself wander aimlessly. He leaned closer and turned his body towards Justin, who turned to face him as well. Taking a deep breath, he let it out, his eyes meeting Justin's inquisitive blue gaze. "I'm saying I'm gay, Justin."

Those eyes widened until Lance could see the whites that surrounded them, and suddenly Justin appeared to be speechless, mouth hanging open as he regarded his friend. He stood abruptly, and Lance slid over on the bed, praying that the action wasn't due to any discomfort resulting from their proximity.

"You're gay," Justin repeated, the fingers of one hand pressed to his forehead, while he held the other propped up against the small of his back. He started up a pacing rhythm, perpendicular to the bed. "You're gay? You were with Danielle, but you're gay?" He stopped before the bed. "I thought you liked being with her. How can you..." he shook his head and turned away, pacing back to the wall.

Lance averted his gaze from Justin's back, trying not to view his retreating form as a rejection. He needs to figure this all out, too. I had my time, he tried to remind himself. "I did like being with her, J, but... I think part of that was because I thought I was supposed to like it, not 'cause I really did."

"It wasn't just Danielle," Justin muttered, and ran his hand through his hair, curls springing up as each finger passed over them. "There were other girls, too. I mean, I know you never really messed around a lot, but come on," he insisted, facing him again. "We've all... I mean, head is head, isn't it?"

Lance wasn't sure how he'd even begin to explain.

"How did you know?" Justin asked him bluntly on the return lap, the disbelief suddenly washed clean from his voice, replaced now with curiousity. "I mean, did you just realize one day that girls just didn't do it for you?" He came to a stop directly in front of Lance, his knees brushing the mattress. "I can't imagine just one day thinking I'd rather be with a guy, you know?"

Lance shrugged uncomfortably, finding it difficult to look directly into Justin's eyes. "I dunno," he began feebly. "I guess... I've always kinda liked guys. I guess I just never thought I should like 'em, so I kinda ignored it. Danielle was just a part of helping me realize that I could never really look at a girl the same way." He shrugged again.

Justin sat down next to him and draped an arm over his shoulders. It was a tentative touch, and Lance could still see the confusion in his eyes, but he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. "Well," Justin sighed. He seemed to be struggling. "I don't really know what to say, but... this doesn't change anything between us, okay? I'm not gonna let it."

Lance smiled, allowing Justin to draw his other arm up around him, and leaned his chin on the younger man's shoulder. "Thanks, J. That's all I need to know."

"I'm still gonna have to... I guess get used to it," Justin went on, rubbing Lance's back in their hug, and he sounded a little bit lost. "Can I, like... ask you stuff? Like, I don't wanna make you uncomfortable, but I'm kinda curious."

Lance nodded against the denim of Justin's jacket. "Sure. Anything. I can't say I'll be comfortable exactly, but... I'll try to answer anything you wanna know."

Justin closed his eyes and didn't let go. "Okay then."

JC felt the heavy bass beat of the club vibrate through his body, rattling his ribcage, thumping in his chest, making his teeth chatter with its intensity. He gyrated his hips against the person in front of him, eyes closed, uncaring whether the person was male or female, oblivious to his surroundings. There was only the music and the rhythm and the cold, sweating beer in his hand. He raised his arms above his head and passed the bottle over the heated skin of his forehead, shuddering in delight at the feel of the cool dew against him.

A pair of hands grasped his hips from behind, and JC could tell from the delicate touch that they were feminine. He leaned slightly back with his upper body and felt the softness of her breasts against his shoulder blades. They danced together for some time, her hands caressing his hips in a mesmerizing pattern before inching slowly forward. His flesh jumped as her fingertips brushed lightly against the crotch of his jeans, and he pulled away. He didn't want to go there tonight.

Finishing his beer in one swig, he squeezed his way off of the dance floor to get another. He didn't know where Chris, Justin or Joey were, but he wasn't terribly concerned; he hadn't come to the club to hang out with them anyways. Lance was back at the hotel, resting his injured ankle, so he'd been MIA on the clubbing dates lately. That was all right with JC, too; he really wanted to be on his own right now. He didn't want to have to deal with Lance and his intense gazes and his childishly physical sense of humour and the stupid way he blushed over everything and what the hell was that all about?

He halved his current beer with another long swig, feeling the heat of the alcohol in his blood cause his forehead to bead up slightly with sweat. The only way in which he could describe the way his and Lance's friendship had been lately was to say that they were flirting. Or, at least, he was flirting; it was so easy sometimes, to lean a little closer than he had to, to brush against an arm or a leg in a casual manner, to shoot a sly grin in Lance's direction. As for why he was flirting exactly, JC was not sure. But he was pretty certain that Lance was flirting back.

Perhaps it was because Bobbie hadn't accompanied him for all of the promotional trips and he didn't know where else to direct his attention. Perhaps it was the way Lance ducked his head and blushed, grinning nervously, when he gave the younger man a particularly suggestive look. He was keeping it friendly, of course; he didn't expect to win anyone over this way -- least of all a guy, least of all a bandmate, least of all a straight bandmate -- but despite the logistics he had to admit that it was fun.

And Lance was awfully cute when he blushed.

He finished that beer and signalled for another, slouching slightly in his seat at the booth. Suddenly, he felt forlorn; he'd never really thought of any of the guys in that light before. Yes, he had an attraction to men, and he would have to be blind for Justin's raw sex appeal and handsomely boyish features to escape notice. Even Joey's ruggedness appealed to him on a physical level. And Lance was... the word 'beautiful' came to mind, and JC didn't try to deny it. But with the group there was a strong sense of that which was off-limits; he simply didn't look at his brothers like that. He wondered what had changed.

He didn't even know what he really felt towards Lance or what it meant. There was a difference between simply noticing that someone was attractive and longing for the moments when he could reach out and touch them, wanting to take them into his arms for no good reason, loving the sound of their laughter. All of which described his feelings for Lance. So what did that mean?

He grimaced when he went to take another sip from his drink and realized that the bottle was already empty. He didn't remember finishing that one. Rising unsteadily to his feet, JC decided that he wanted to hit the dance floor again.

Lance awoke, wincing, to the dull ache in his ankle. It was after four in the morning. Great time for painkillers to fade out. Four in the fucking morning. Who needs sleep? Not me.

He fumbled around blindly on the nightstand for one of the codeine tablets he'd been prescribed and swallowed it dry, curling up on his good side, and began to count the seconds until the medicine kicked in. He was on seven hundred and thirty-one when he heard muffled giggles in the hallway and realized that the others must be back from their night out clubbing. He debated it for only a moment before crawling out of bed and hobbling to the door, easing it open and leaning against the doorway to watch.

Joey glanced over at the sound from where he stood whispering with Justin and greeted him immediately. "Hey, Lance, we wake you?"

Lance shook his head. "Nah, my ankle woke me up. You guys have a good time tonight?"

Joey grinned widely. "Oh, man, I was thinkin' about you! I saw this one girl you woulda loved. She was wearing this mini-skirt all up to here," he gestured high up on his thighs, "and she kept tugging it down like she was embarrassed to dress like that." He chuckled, shaking his head, and his hair -- loosed from the gel that normally slicked it back -- fell into his face. "I was like, 'now that's a girl who's been corrupted by her friends. I wish Lance was here to see this.'"

"I told him you probably wouldn't wanna hook up with her," Justin put in, his eyes slightly glazed with the effects of alcohol, and Lance felt a wave of panic come over him. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck you are not gonna blab this Justin I swear to God I will ki-- "But you probably would've had fun flirting with her anyway, right?" Justin added, grinning widely, and Lance let out all of the air in his lungs in a gust.

Relaxing, he grinned back, immensely relieved that Justin's death wouldn't have to be on his hands. "I wish I could've been there," he said truthfully as Joey passed his door, Justin right next to him. "Where's JC and Chris? Didn't they go with you?"

Joey jerked his thumb over his shoulder behind him. "Chris came back early. JC's on his way up. But look; you should go back to bed, right? We'll see you in the morning, okay?"

Lance waved at their departure and turned his attention to the inebriated man exiting the elevator, accompanied by two of their hulking bodyguards. "Hey, Lance," JC called out, then shushed his escorts noisily. "Sshhh, gotta be quiet; we woke him up." Raising his voice again, he yelled, "Sorry we woke you up, man!"

Lance smiled as JC made his way over to him. "I was already up, JC; it's okay. Have a good time?" You smell like you had a great time. Did you dump the bottle on yourself or something?

JC nodded enthusiastically. "I was smokin' on the dance floor, Lance, I wish you coulda seen." It seemed that Lance had missed everything good this night. "I was freestylin', I was makin' up stuff," JC went on, excited. "I made up this one dance," he breathed, "I gotta show you this dance I made up. It was so good. I gave it a name and everything. Hey, Lance, remember the Weekend At Bernie's movies?"

Lance raised his eyebrows, startled at the apparent sudden change of subject. "Yeah?"

"I call it the 'Weekend At Bernie's Dance'," JC announced proudly, spreading his arms out to the sides as though clearing a crowd back to give him room. He then held his hands out in front of him, fingers hanging limply to the floor, and swayed, allowing his body to stumble awkwardly with the shift in his center of gravity in a zombie-like gait. Then he reached out with one hand to lean against the wall, attempting to regain his balance. He gazed at Lance expectantly, a grin still wide on his face.

Lance bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "That was great, JC. Did you show the other guys?"

JC sighed dejectedly. "Yeah, but I don't think they liked it," he mumbled, and Lance couldn't prevent a slight chuckle from escaping, ducking his head to hide it. When he looked back up, JC was staring intently at him, smiling again, eyes strangely large and dark.

His smile faltered slightly. "What?"

JC sighed again, but this time it was an almost giddy sound. "You're just so cute, Lance," he breathed, leaning over and kissing him lightly on the right cheek. "Good night," he whispered loudly, turning and starting back down the hall, using the wall for support.

Lance made it back to his bed rather numbly, padding easily across the floor before he realized that the codeine had in fact kicked in and he felt rather exhausted. He curled back up in bed and concentrated on the tingling on his cheek where JC had kissed him, a slightly wet peck. He knew he'd pay for sleeping on his injured side in the morning, but there was no way he'd roll over now.

four

JC's girlfriend Bobbie looked radiant underneath the club's harsh lights. So did Chris's girlfriend Dani for that matter, but then she was not sitting next to the person Lance most wanted to be beside. Photographs simply did not do Bobbie justice; she had a natural prettiness about her with her tanned skin, dark hair and eyes, and wide, winning smile. She was thin, but she had healthy curves in all of the right places, and that was precisely the way JC's tastes ran; she could wear a t-shirt and an evening gown equally well.

And, Lance mused, watching from across the booth as she threw her head back and laughed at something JC had said, she had a great sense of humour. She was funny enough on her own; constantly making wisecracks and pulling practical jokes on the guys and the various other girlfriends. But she also found the guys to be hilarious, and Lance would be lying if he said that they didn't appreciate the ego boost.

In short, he liked her too much to be resentful or jealous.

Even if JC was looking at her right now with something resembling blind adoration.

"...and I said, 'Janis,'" she was saying, gesturing widely with her hands, "'if you have a problem with my work you should come to me like Michelle does and stop with the power trips'. But she's just running around the place wreaking havoc anyway." She sighed and slumped back in her seat, frustrated. It wasn't the first time she'd mentioned the personality clashes she had with one of the assisting editors for the teen magazine she wrote for.

"Well," JC began, rubbing her shoulder gently, "if she's being a problem, why is she still working for those guys?"

Bobbie sighed again and plucked the straw from her drink, bending and twisting it within her fingers. "It's really only me she's giving a hard time. I think she's mad because of the people I'm bringing in. She thinks I have an unfair advantage." Well, Lance had to admit that she did have an unfair advantage; he and the others set her up with interviews with their friends in the business whenever they could as a favour to her. But it wasn't as though the business didn't work that way already.

"If you want me to say something..." JC suggested, shrugging, and trailed off.

"No, really," Bobbie assured him, shaking her head vehemently. "JC, it's my problem to deal with. I'm sorry to dump it on you. I just had to vent a little. Don't worry about it. Really."

"Wait... Janis," Justin spoke up, leaning forward to address Bobbie from across the table. "Isn't that the lady who was making all those inappropriate advances last time we were at the J-14 office?"

Justin, you sly bastard, Lance thought, before jumping in himself.

"Yeah..." he contributed, furrowing his brow indignantly. "I felt very uncomfortable working around her. We had to change and stuff in there, too. I distinctly remember feeling very creeped out."

"See?" JC said, pointing to the space between Justin and Lance. "It's not just me. We can't work in that environment, Bobbie. I'm gonna get Johnny to make a call tomorrow. Next time we stop by, Janis can't be there; it's that simple."

Beside him, Chris snorted derisively. "Way to know your power, guys."

Lance shot him a sidelong glance and held it steady as he raised his glass to his lips, taking a sip. As if they didn't all take advantage of their celebrity from time to time if they thought it would help them. Nothing as blatant as the clichéd "Do you know who I am?", but a subtle reference to a higher-up often did the trick. Knowing their power, indeed.

Chris seemed to decide to keep whatever retort he might have had on his tongue to himself, and instead turned to Dani beside him. "Nobody's giving you a hard time over at ESPN, are they hun?" he asked her, giving her a squeeze with one arm around her shoulder.

Dani shook her head no, mouth pulled into a thoughtful frown. "Not at all. Well, almost. Remember Don? He was hinting that maybe I didn't earn this job fairly for a while, but after I recited the histories of baseball and hockey to him he had a sudden change of heart." She grinned and waggled her eyebrows at him triumphantly.

Chris laughed in response and squeezed her again. "That's my baby. Grab 'em by the balls! Stun 'em with your mind!" He kissed the top of her head softly, pulling back when he caught her surreptitiously checking her watch. "You wanna get out of here?"

She nodded, an apologetic smile forming on her lips. "Sorry; I just don't really wanna be out late tonight." Lance had the grace to feel guilty for being out late when he knew he had to be up early in the morning for their tour rehearsals; hours of physical torture lay ahead and here they all were, getting drunk and wearing themselves down on the dance floor. Fortunately, the guilt passed momentarily.

"Jesus, Chris," Joey exclaimed, grinning widely. "I know brains turn you on, but you can't go running to get a room every time Dani says something intelligent." Lance hid his chuckle with a cough, but Justin laughed outright at his comment.

"Which is why I will always get laid more than you, Joe," Chris stated matter-of-factly as he stood and shuffled out of the booth with Dani by his side. Bobbie stood as well.

"I guess that's my cue to leave, too, then," she sighed, bending to retrieve her purse from her seat. "Thanks for looking out for me, guys," she said earnestly. "I really appreciate it."

Lance watched JC get up to lead Bobbie out, his hand placed lovingly at the small of her back, and narrowed his eyes dangerously, any trace of jealousy gone for the evening. He wondered if JC would dare to pull anything this evening. He wondered if she knew what JC would likely do when she was gone.

JC didn't know why his relationship with Bobbie failed to fulfill him. She went almost everywhere with him, had seen sides of him that few women could claim to have seen. She willingly cleared her schedule to accompany him on the most boring tour junkets, and never complained about the adverse effects of being a boy-band member's girlfriend. He, in turn, did everything he could for her, whether that meant buying her things, or taking her to gala functions, or... getting people she didn't like fired... really, whatever she wanted.

Things were fine when Bobbie was around; when JC could drink up her presence and focus on her alone, focus on the good things about her and just live in the moment. Bobbie was like a drug, his drug; being around her was a giddy high. But like a drug, JC knew that Bobbie wasn't in his life to be good for him. She didn't help to keep him in line, she wasn't around when he was feeling like his world was spinning out of control -- by his own choice, he had to admit; he didn't want her to see him like that -- and she didn't inspire him to be a better person.

Whenever she left, JC was reminded of all the chinks in his soul that were not filled by her. He supposed that love could help to fill those crevaces, those cracks where the pieces failed to hold together, but love was something that would never enter the equation where Bobbie was concerned. You didn't love your drugs; you simply inhaled them, used them up the way they used you up, and hoped that you out-lasted them.

The thrill of attraction, of winning the interest of a pretty groupie, helped JC to get his mind off of those things when he needed it. And he prided himself on his uncanny ability to pick out the ones who didn't kiss and tell.

And this blonde was perfect.

Lance was in a bad mood.

He was staring at -- no, not staring. Watching. Watching with great interest. Like a concerned friend -- JC, who had his head buried in the neck of some blonde, some random blonde he'd seen on the dance floor, not five minutes after he'd seen Bobbie off. Bobbie who was his girlfriend, for God's sake. It was the only thing Lance couldn't stand about JC; Bobbie didn't deserve to have her boyfriend mess around behind her back. Nobody deserved that. Every time they went out Lance hoped that JC would behave, in vain. And he had to sit and watch it happen. Well, he didn't have to sit, but he didn't want to fight with JC over JC's relationships. And he didn't have to watch. He was just concerned.

It didn't help when Chris leaned over his shoulder as he was leaving and said, "You know, if you haven't come out to the other guys yet, you might wanna stop looking at JC like you're a jealous girlfriend."

So now he was staring -- watching -- and feeling obvious while he did it. He snuck a glance at Justin once or twice, wondering if the younger man might have noticed an unusual amount of interest in JC's escapades, but Justin seemed oblivious. Justin could be perceptive when he wanted to, so Lance hoped that Chris simply didn't know what he was talking about.

"That is so pathetic."

Justin's voice brought Lance's head around to gaze at him again, and at Lance's questioning expression, Justin nodded his head towards their renegade band member. "He just fucking took Bobbie home. The same night. Show some respect; my God. You know," Justin added, looking directly at Lance now, "you should say something to him about it. He'd listen to you."

No, he wouldn't. He'd think I was being all high and mighty on him, and he'd resent me for butting in. "I don't think he wants to get told what to do, Justin," he responded. Then he leaned in, a little closer, to speak in Justin's ear. "You know, you really should be nicer to Britney." He wondered why it was so much easier to spot the flaws in someone else's relationship when you had your own demons to work on.

The point was taken; Justin straightened up guiltily, shooting Lance an uneasy glare. "When have I ever so much as looked at another woman on the same night that I was with Britney?" So that was what Justin considered the difference? Nevermind the fact that when Britney wasn't around, Justin acted as a single man, whether that meant flirting or flat-out picking girls up. Lance simply arched an eyebrow at him and held the look for a beat before swiveling his head away. Whatever you need to tell yourself to justify it, Justin, his eyes said, and Justin was suitably quieted.

A long moment passed between the two lone figures at the booth before Justin piped up again. If he was angry for Lance's chastisement, it didn't show in his voice. "Lance...." He sounded unsure. "Can I ask you something?"

Lance nodded emphatically, attempting to quell the tentative undertone in Justin's voice. "Yeah, what do you need to know?"

"Do you ever feel guilty? For like... do you ever feel guilty for being gay?"

Lance licked his lips thoughtfully before turning his body to face Justin completely. Justin looked as though he was afraid his question would physically hurt Lance to answer; he had to respect his friend's cautiousness. "Do you mean, like, for sinning or something? Because of the Bible?"

Justin nodded, turning in the booth himself. He picked absently at the seam of his jeans as he attempted to explain himself. "You know, 'cause I know you were brought up in the church like I was, and I know there's some pretty harsh stuff in the Bible about that. How'd you deal with that? Do you?"

"I think at first I was afraid of that," Lance admitted, pressing his lips together in consideration. "But like... I don't know why I like guys. I just do. And I know I'm a good person. And people try to make it out like being gay's all about sex, but like, I've never been with a guy, but that doesn't make me not gay. JC's never been with a guy and that doesn't make him not bi. You know? I just know I could never really be happy if I spent the rest of my life with a woman. I don't know who my soul mate is, but I just know it has to be a guy. It just has to be, or else everything in my life is wrong. So how can it be bad, being gay? There has to be an explanation somewhere. It has to be okay, or why am I even here?"

It was the first time that he'd verbalized his thoughts. That seemed to satisfy Justin, and the two fell silent, each nursing their respective drinks. Then Justin spoke up again. "How does it feel, knowing the rest of us can go out to clubs and pick up girls and stuff, and you can't? Like, you can't even go up to some guy you like and start hitting on him, 'cause of the public. Does that bug you?"

Lance shrugged and finished his drink. "I dunno; it's not so bad, I don't think. I know I'm gonna be single for a while, so it's not like I'll be looking." Justin looked doubtful, and he placed a hand on his arm in an attempt to reassure him. "Look, Justin. I was gay before I told you and so far I've managed just fine, so don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about what?" Joey breathed, sticking his head between them.

Lance jumped, startled, and banged his knee on the underside of the table. "Holy shit!" he yelled, jerking his head to look at the older man. "Man, you can't sneak up on us like that," he said, breathless, and cursed his voice for wavering the way it did. If Joey had heard anything.... "Me and Justin were just talking about picking up girls; it was nothing."

"Yeah," Joey agreed, straightening up behind them. "I figured as much. Having fun?"

He exchanged glances with Justin before answering. "I'm all right. I'm just about to get a refill; are you gonna sit for a while?"

Joey shook his head. "No, I just stopped by to say 'hi'. Why don't you come with me, Lance; you can get your refill at the bar instead of over here."

Lance shrugged. "Okay, I guess I'll be back in a second," he told Justin, pulling his legs up. He stood on his seat to hop over the back of the booth ungracefully, and led the way to the bar.

Joey touched his elbow, keeping in step with him. "Hey, Lance," he said softly, and Lance slowed at the tone of his voice, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knows. He knows. Oh, shit, he knows. Oh, God. I'm not ready for this. Please, don't say anything, Joe. God, please....

"I kinda overheard you and Justin talking a little back at the booth," Joey admitted, and Lance bit down on his lip, hard. "I don't wanna accuse you of something I might've heard wrong, but--" he shook his head slightly-- "did you say you were gay? Was that what you were talking about?" He lowered his voice over the word, glancing around him to make sure that their conversation would remain unheard, and Lance wished that he had thought to do the same thing when speaking with Justin.

"I am, Joey," he said simply, pulling back from the taller man's grasp. "I was gonna tell you, Joe. I was gonna tell you -- I was just waiting, and it never seemed like the right time, and..." he sighed, sitting on one of the high stools at the bar. "And I like the way things are with us, like our friendship, and I didn't wanna mess with that, and this is gonna change things."

Joey shook his head. "It's not gonna change things. I still love you, man." He leaned over, grasping Lance by the back of the neck, and pulled him into an awkward hug before taking a seat himself.

Lance wasn't convinced. "No, things are gonna change," he insisted, blinking back tears, disgusted with himself. He didn't have enough alcohol in his system to be shit-faced yet, and while he was a happy drunk, he sometimes rode a hell of an emotional roller-coaster getting there. "They will. At first everything'll look normal and we'll be the best of buddies, but then one night you're gonna be going out with some girl, and then you're gonna call Justin and tell him all the stuff you'd normally tell me, 'cause you won't think I'll be interested, and then you'll never call me again, and things'll never be the same between us. Can I get a rum and coke, please?" he asked the bartender.

"Why would you want me to tell you about some girl anyway, Lance?" Joey asked him, after placing his own order. "Why would you wanna hear about that?"

"If I was interested before you knew about me, why would I stop being interested just because you know?" Lance pointed out.

Joey looked at him as though he was sizing him up, before shaking his head. "I don't know."

five

It was a miracle.

Lance didn't know how else to explain the fact that they'd been given two hours off from choreography rehearsals. He suspected that Wade wasn't feeling well, but it wasn't like the choreographer would let any of them off the hook if they were sick. So Wade had told the guys to get lost, and Johnny had left them the run of the house until their free time was up. Justin had somehow managed to drag Chris and Joey off in his car, and JC had disappeared quietly, slipping out of the studio as soon as they broke formation. And Lance was shuffling around the house with nothing better to do.

He wandered into the living room lazily, trying to fight the urge to curl up on something and go to sleep until the rest of the guys got back to resume rehearsals. Everything looked so inviting... the plush carpet, the cushiony couch, the satin loveseat.... His eyes settled on the black baby grand near the center of the room. Nice, hard seat. Not comfortable at all. Good place to sit.

Lance trailed his hand over the smooth ebony, gingerly raising the piano cover and taking a seat. He allowed his fingers to dust the keys lightly, depressing the keys soundlessly for a moment, before running a few absent-minded scales. It had been so long since he'd played, really played something that wasn't just goofing off or helping him figure out the bass line to a new number.

He searched his mind for something he thought he could remember; something classical, something far removed from the pop music he made. Sliding through a few diminished chords, he called to mind his piano teacher's stern instructions. Wrists up; imagine they are supported by tennis balls. Attack with your weak ring finger; that's the only way you'll put any strength into it.

His fingers found the keys, and the initial strains of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata began to fill the room. Lance was surprised that he could even remember how it started, but once the first chord was played there was a little familiarity to it. Still, it saddened him that his hands hesitated between chord changes; no longer instinctively knowing their homes, they hovered above the black and ivory keys, wavering before deciding on the correct notes.

But then he hit a G-sharp when it should have been an A -- or maybe a G, or something -- and he stopped, testing the range of notes around it for something that sounded right, but by then it all sounded wrong, and he couldn't remember where he'd left off in the song, and he didn't want to start over only to reach the same block again. It was so frustrating. It was -- like dancing, Lance thought, rolling his eyes to himself, but he'd always been good at the piano. Why had he stopped playing? Why had he let it go like that?

He heard footsteps shuffling into the room behind him. "Why'd you stop?" JC asked softly, curling himself up into an armchair nearby with a mug of something steaming.

Lance allowed himself a bitter laugh. "I don't remember the rest," he admitted, plucking at the keys randomly. Half of the ragtime version of Chopsticks, a little Heart and Soul, a sped up version of The Rose, all blended into one.

"I think the next part is --" JC started to hum the song where Lance had left off, and Lance turned, grinning.

"I know how it goes, JC; I can hum it, I just can't play it."

"Mmmm," JC nodded, understanding. He paused. "I never learned that song, you know."

Lance didn't respond, thinking that the fact that he had learned it wasn't doing him a whole lot of good at the moment. Besides, JC was the kind of pianist who could sit down for an hour and figure out how to play the damn song by ear, anyway. He sighed heavily and started another Beethoven number -- Romanze -- one he remembered more solidly.

He felt JC press his length against him, joining him on the piano stool, before he saw the older man out of the corner of his eye. "What's the matter?" JC asked him.

He shook his head, feeling silly for being upset. "I just hate it when..." he allowed his eyes to roam the sprawling lid of the piano as he thought. "When I think I know something about myself and I find out I'm wrong."

"What kinds of things? Wrong about what?" JC pressed him, half-turned to face him, his gaze torn between Lance's hands dancing on the piano in that easy waltz, and his face, clearly torn in some sort of conflict.

He smiled. "Things like I thought I'd never let myself forget how to play the piano." JC smelled faintly musky, having only changed clothes since their morning rehearsals, and the scent was spicy, heady, dizzying. He made a mistake and glossed over it easily.

"Come on; you can still play, Lance," JC insisted.

He shrugged. "Nothing good anymore."

"What about this--"

"I've known this song since I was eight, C. If I ever forget it, it's because I'm dead."

JC laughed at that, leaning away, and Lance drew a relieved breath. With JC as close as he'd been, Lance could feel the heat that radiated from his body, and that was not doing a lot to help his playing form.

"So that's how it is, huh?" JC leaned back in, serious again. "What else were you wrong about?"

So many errors were creeping into the movement that it had begun to sound more like an abstract jazz than a romantic waltz. He was surprised with himself; at how lightly and easily he responded. "I used to think I'd be devastated if I was like, 21 and didn't have a steady girlfriend."

JC frowned. He wondered if Lance was still bugged about that; he knew that Lance had harboured lofty dreams of the perfect wife and family, of marrying young and settling down, and he'd all but had to give it up in the face of their success. Sometimes JC wondered if the reason Lance allowed JC to flirt with him was so that he could get the attention, any attention, from someone on a consistent basis. "You've still got two weeks," he pointed out, placing one hand on the small of Lance's back, and the younger man faltered completely before restarting the movement, much slower now.

After a moment of consideration Lance stopped playing entirely and gave a rueful smile. "It doesn't matter how long I have, JC." He poked at a key, holding the damper pedal down so that its tone lingered around them. "I'm gay," he said softly, glancing up to look at JC, peering into eyes that resembled the ocean on a clear summer morning. He saw surprise; he'd expected that. Surprise and.... Well, surprise was about all that he saw.

Wow. WOW. Lance was gay. Lance was attractive. He had flirted with Lance. Lance had flirted back. Lance was gay. Lance had flirted back. Lance had flirted back. JC didn't remove his hand. "Does that make you unhappy?" he asked him.

Lance shook his head, letting his gaze fall back to the piano. "Oh, no. No, I'm happy. I'm learning the lingo and everything. 'I'm here, I'm queer, get used to it.'" He lifted an arm and gave it a half-hearted pump to JC's laughter. "No, I just..." he threw up his hands helplessly. "I guess it just sucks that I thought I wanted something for so long and then I realize I didn't really want it."

"Well," JC began, raising his arm to Lance's shoulder and giving him an affectionate squeeze, "You just have to replace all that with something you want now, right? So what do you want?"

You. But you don't want that, do you?

Lance shrugged uneasily within JC's embrace. "I want what I can't have," he whispered, sure that JC wouldn't be able to hear him.

"Hmmm?" JC released him and rested his hand on the back of his neck. "Lance?" He squeezed firmly, and Lance turned to face him. "What is it you want now?" he repeated.

What struck Lance was how husky JC's voice had sounded when he'd said that. He looked at JC carefully then, noting that the surprise was gone from those eyes, and in its place was a questioning look, and something like anticipation? Hope? And... were JC's fingers tickling the back of his neck? Weak spot, JC, weak spot, Jay... Cee...

"I want you," he managed to croak hoarsely, unsure if JC had heard that, either. But then the corner of JC's mouth pulled up slightly and suddenly JC's mouth was too close to fit in his field of vision and JC's lips were touching his and oh God his eyes were closing and if JC kept touching his neck like that he didn't know what he was going to do. His mouth opened slightly and closed again upon JC's, each kiss more a caress, a gentle teasing, than an expression of lust.

Then JC's kiss became more insistent and Lance felt emboldened enough to move his hands to cup JC's face, venturing out shyly with his tongue, probing JC's open mouth. His tongue met JC's between them, and he gasped at the realization of it is finally happening I can't believe it... He felt his body being turned slightly, and the hard ledge of the piano pressed into his back, his flesh and the fabric of his t-shirt playing out a harsh chord on the piano. Removing one hand from JC's face, he reached behind him to slam the cover down, leaning back into it. Against his stomach, JC's hand was already wandering upwards, under material and against his skin, and he shuddered, maybe moaned -- he wasn't sure.

At any rate, the sensation jolted him slightly back to reality -- what the hell are we doing? -- and he somehow found the strength to bring his hands up between their bodies and push JC away. The older man broke the kiss, looking down at him with a bewildered expression. He looked out of breath. Lance felt out of breath. "What?" JC asked him. "What's the matter?"

"What are we doing, JC?" It had to be dealt with. He hadn't known, hadn't had a fucking clue that JC felt anything towards him, had thought that the flirting and the teasing was simply a sign of their growing friendship, or -- at best -- his imagination making him see things that simply weren't there. But this... this was sudden and unbelievable. Lance was caught up and didn't even know what to make of the situation. And JC had a girlfriend.

"We were... kissing," JC said lightly, with a small smile, and poked him playfully in the side. "I kinda liked it... did you?"

Kinda? Lance raised his eyebrows and JC smirked. "Sorry; I really liked it."

"JC," Lance began evenly, "there are, like, a million things wrong with this." He began to count items off on his fingers. "You said you didn't wanna get involved with a guy ever. You have a girlfriend. We're--" he stopped. "What?"

JC shrugged, trailing a finger up his arm. The sensation simultaneously tickled and aroused him; he wondered if it would be like this every time JC touched him from now on. How could he live like that? "I never knew a guy I could see myself being with," JC admitted, keeping his gaze down. "I never knew you liked me, Lance," he said softly.

"I didn't know you liked me. But you didn't know I was gay, either," he replied, then flashed him a grin. "Surprise." JC smiled back, but a frown soon returned to Lance's face. "What about Bobbie, JC?"

JC shrugged again. "What do you want me to do about her?"

Lance pulled back from his touch entirely, feeling his face grow hot with a flare of sudden anger. "Well, I'm not gonna be one of your groupie lays, JC. I meant what I said -- I want you, I do, whatever that means -- but I'm not gonna help you cheat on her. I've seen you do it too long and I hate it."

JC glanced up at him, a hurt expression on his face, but Lance couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for him. He pressed on, but more softly now. "Does Bobbie know? Does she know what you do behind her back?"

JC nodded, closing his eyes, and passed a hand over them, rubbing them wearily. "Yeah. Yeah, she knows." He remembered the fights they'd had when she first found out about his infidelity, but he'd given her a choice and she'd stayed with him. More likely than anything, she stayed because she hoped that one day he would simply stop. And that would never happen.

Feeling his eyes fill with tears, Lance shook his head, rising off the piano stool. "I'm not gonna help you do that to her, JC. And--" he leaned over JC, placing his hands on JC's thighs and drawing in so that they were nose to nose. "Tell me why the fuck I'd wanna be with you if you were gonna treat me the same." He straightened again, unable to quite believe he'd turned down something he'd wanted for so long, and hoped that his legs would carry him from the room. JC grabbed him by the arm before he could leave.

"Lance," he whispered, pulling the younger man back to him. "Lance. Don't you think we could have something more than just sex?"

Oh, my God, sex... Lance wiped angrily at his eyes and glared down at him. "What do you think we've had all this time?"

"I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, Lance," JC told him, hoping that Lance would see the sincerity in his eyes.

"Yeah, well," Lance sighed. "Maybe we should just..." he shrugged. "I dunno, forget this ever happened." And I go back to liking you, only this time I know you like me back, and we can't do anything about it? Fuck.

"I'll break up with her," JC said softly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Lance's hand, his fingers curled against the palm. "I know how you feel, and I won't... you're right. I can't do that to her. It's not fair."

Lance cautioned himself to be reasonable, to think of the downsides of pursuing this. "What about me?" he asked JC. "I'm not ready to jump into this, either. I'm not gonna do this if you're just gonna cheat on me, JC. I'd rather we just stay friends than deal with that."

"Trust me," JC began, "this is not something I wanna mess up. If I have to promise you, I will." He took Lance's other hand within his. "Look at me," he insisted, tugging until Lance met his gaze. "I promise you," he said solemnly, "I won't fool around on you if you give me a shot."

Lance pulled his hands away, nodding shortly. "I'll think about it," he gave in, backing away toward the entrance. "Okay? I'll think about it." Turning from JC to leave, it occurred to Lance that he'd never before thought his answer could be anything other than 'yes'.

six

JC tuned out the voice of the third reporter to be questioning the group that day, twisting his bracelets and rolling them between his fingers as he focused on a spot on the wall behind her. He was more than content to allow the others to field all of the questions today. Well, Joey, Justin and Chris could field the questions, anyway; Lance was similarly silent.

Lance was sulking, more like it, not that anyone but JC knew why.

It wasn't JC's fault that the other three had claimed the tiny couch on which they were to conduct their interview and that he'd barely had room himself to squeeze into one end. It wasn't his fault that Lance had been the last to get out of wardrobe because their dresser had noticed at the last minute that a button on his shirt wasn't laying right, so he'd had to change. It wasn't his fault that the only space left on the couch by then was an even tinier sliver next to him. Okay, so he'd slid over to make room for Lance, but -- what was I supposed do do? he wondered, just let him sit on one of us? The other guys weren't moving for him.

But no, Lance had set his mouth and narrowed his eyes at JC when he saw the only available spot left, and then he'd gone and settled himself precariously on the couch's arm, both legs swung decidedly in the opposite direction from JC. And then he'd proceeded to sulk.

JC scowled. Lance was trying to be all professional with him now. Professional which, to Lance, meant no more flirting, no more touching, no more playing around. "JC," he'd hiss, after ducking out of the reach of the older man's fingertips, "Can't you be professional, for God's sake?" But not before JC could feel a shudder of desire ripple through Lance's body, not before he noticed the thin blush that crept into the blond's cheeks, not before JC caught the slight rolling of his eyes at the merest touch.

Well, no, JC would think in response. They'd never had to be professional before; why now? The guys had always goofed around, had always touched each other in innocuous, teasing ways. If anything, the sudden distance between Lance and JC would look stranger to the others than the flirting had. JC figured it would only be a matter of time before somebody asked if he and Lance had had a fight or something. We're acting like a Goddamn couple by trying not to act like a couple, he thought. Shit.

He knew that Lance was waiting for him to do something about Bobbie before he'd let JC make another move on him, but the more JC thought about it, the less he understood it. They'd been flirting with each other before Lance had come out to him, before they'd known they were attracted to one another, and Lance hadn't considered that to be cheating on her. So what was so different now? Nothing; they just knew more of the facts. But then Lance had gone and gotten a guilty conscience and JC had promised to break up with Bobbie and -- GOD -- he'd promised to be be monogamous with Lance, too.

Why had he done that?

He struggled for the remainder of the interview to come up with an answer to that question, and when it was over he still mulled it over, mutely following the others into the limo that would deliver them back to Johnny's house. He found himself again seated next to Lance, who discreetly turned his back and focused his gaze out of the window. JC draped an arm around the back of the seat, touching his fingers to Lance's shoulder slightly just to spite him. He fought a smile when he felt the younger man jump, but the other guys were sitting right across from them and he knew that Lance wouldn't risk rebuffing him out here.

He allowed his fingertips to drift back and forth, lost in thought. It wasn't like he wanted to marry Lance or anything; God, he hadn't wanted anything serious. He wanted... well, he wanted what they had in their friendship, and then some. He liked Lance's personality and enjoyed his company. Sure, Lance had a sense of humour that bordered on the eccentric, but he was quick to laugh and his laughter was contagious. He and JC had a history of looking out for each other out of the five of them, so to have a relationship didn't seem too far-fetched an idea. Except when Lance was sulking; JC had never seen anybody regress to a quarter of their age more quickly than when Lance sulked.

He recalled the way Lance had felt beneath his lips and under his hands, how he had tasted, how he'd sounded. JC closed his eyes against the memory; he wanted to do that again, and more. He wanted to hear Lance moan the way he'd moaned the first time JC had kissed him; he wanted to see Lance's face in the throes of ecstasy; he wanted to be responsible for putting the fluidity into Lance's hips. And if that meant swearing monogamy, well... he wasn't going to get a chance any other way.

Considering it further, JC noted that there was no guarantee this relationship would be lasting; for all they knew, it would fizzle out in a couple of weeks, curiousity would wear thin, and that would be that. He could be working himself up into a frenzy over nothing. And if they decided to hang on... JC would have to take that one day at a time. He'd promised to be faithful, not a life partner, after all. If he really needed to get out, really needed to be with someone else, then Lance would have to understand. Lance had, after all, been the one who said he'd rather be friends than be cheated on. So if JC had to end it, he'd simply have to end it.

He was startled when Lance suddenly rotated his body on the seat beside him, curling into his caresses while shielding JC's errant hand from the view of the others. After the coolness that had existed between them that morning, it was as though Lance was allowing them both a little secret for the duration of the ride. JC would take what he could get; he kept up the repetitive caress and followed Lance's gaze out of the window, attempting to ignore the conversation that went on around them.

"Did you check out that interviewer?" Justin wanted to know, shifting himself to get more comfortable on the seat. "Damn, she was something else. Are they trying to get a message across or something? Maybe we'll give more interesting answers to the same stupid questions if the interviewer is fine?" He affected a deep, slurring tone to his voice, half-closing one eye and pulling his wrist up to his chest. "'Mah favorite culluh iz baby blue. Can I get yer phone numbahhhh?'" With his free hand, he pulled down one corner of his mouth, simulating drool, and stuck out his tongue. Beside him, Chris chuckled, and Joey laughed, shaking his head.

"She was fine, though." Justin paused pensively. "I wonder if I could get her number."

"She was all right," Joey conceded, nodding and seeming to recognize his friend's second comment as more wry joke than inquiry.

Chris twisted his mouth in thought. "I've seen finer," he put in finally. "Hell," he added, snorting, "I've got 'finer' waiting for me back at the house."

"Feel free not to kiss Dani's ass when she's not around, Chris," Justin told him, putting an arm around his shoulders, and the older man shrugged him off.

"What did you think of her, JC?" Joey asked, nudging him slightly. JC remained oblivious, staring absently out of the window at passing scenery. After a moment Joey nudged again, harder. "Hellooo; Earth to JC."

JC started, whipping his head around to meet Joey's playful smile with a slightly annoyed expression. "Huh? I don't know; I didn't really notice her," he mumbled, returning his gaze to the window.

"Didn't notice her?" Justin quipped. "C, I don't know about you sometimes. I mean, Bobbie's all right, and her body's amazing, but you gotta admit this woman made Bobbie look like the kind of girl you walk."

Chris smirked and began to yip like a small dog, and after a moment of laughter Joey joined in, giving a howl like a coyote. Justin simply sat back, allowing them to play out the joke. Beside JC, Lance sighed as though fed up with the others and shifted his weight again, tucking one leg up underneath him and slouching further onto the armrest. Suddenly his rear was a warm presence against JC's thigh, and JC didn't know if Lance had done it on purpose, but the contact made it easy for him to tune out the raucous laughter that filled the limo.

Her dark hair fell in a fan over her face, bowed intently over the contents of a novel, the cover of which he could not make out. Raised to her lips was a bar, a stick, of something granola and chocolate; probably some power or energy bar or something that tasted sinful but promised not to leave a lasting effect on the smoothness of her hips.

"Hey, honey," JC called softly as he approached, swinging the bedroom door only half-way shut behind him. She looked up at him, grinning as she rushed to swallow, and closed the paperback over her index finger. "How'd you end up way in here?"

"Hi, JC," Bobbie replied, tossing the bar aside as she rose from the bed to greet him with a peck on the lips. She gestured at the expanse of bedroom around her. "I don't know; you guys told me to make myself at home, so..." she shrugged.

Make yourself at home, not bury yourself in the heart of Fort Knox.
"Well, I've been looking for you forever," he told her truthfully. "I wanted to talk to you alone."

Bobbie immediately looked apologetic, knowing better than anyone how rare were the moments when she and JC could be alone with one another. "Oh, JC. I'm sorry; I just figured if I stayed out of your way you'd get more work done."

That much was true. "Well," JC began, scratching his ear distractedly before he smoothed down the hair at the nape of his neck, "Can we talk, then? Now?"

She nodded at him apprehensively, folding the page over and setting her book down in the plush comforters. She wiped her hands over her thighs as though dusting them off, and hooked her thumbs within the pockets of her shorts. "Yeah, sure. Is something bothering you? You seem a little..." she shrugged. "Distracted."

JC glanced back over his shoulder at the half-open door, deliberating, before he took Bobbie by the hand and led her into the bathroom just off the far wall. Pulling her in behind him, he turned and reached past her to close the door, locking it and flicking on the fan.

Bobbie eyed him, puzzled. "You pulled me into the bathroom to talk?" she asked him. "We could've just locked the bedroom door, hun."

JC shook his head. "No, I..." he gestured back to the door. "If the other guys find out we were in here, they'll get the wrong idea," he explained. And then they'd make some crude comment about christening the rooms of Johnny's house or something. And then Lance would be pissed. Pissed, thinking that JC wasn't serious about wanting to be with him. And JC didn't want to deal with any of that.

Fortunately, Bobbie seemed to understand, and her lips pulled up slightly in a knowing smile. "You're right. I don't feel like hearing the jokes today, either." She leaned back against the vanity portion of the counter, staring up at him expectantly. "So... what did you want to talk about?"

He exhaled slowly and turned from her to pace the room. He might as well cut to the chase; there was no diplomacy for this, no use in making small talk. "Bobbie, I think... I think we should stop seeing each other." God, could he sound more high school?

Glancing back, he saw her regarding him with a stunned silence. "What?" she asked softly.

"I'm..." JC licked his lips and tried again. "We..." Okay, this was turning out to be more difficult than he'd anticipated. "There's... someone else. That I wanna be with," he admitted. "And I can't be with you both, and..." he trailed off. He hadn't meant to make it sound as though he'd been given a choice and chosen someone over her. That was what had happened, but he didn't want to make it sound that way. "I'm sorry," he concluded simply. "I really am; I'm sorry."

"You're in love with someone else," Bobbie said flatly.

JC whirled to face her, having turned to pace once more. "No!" he protested. "No, it's not like that."

"Is it someone you've been fooling around with?"

JC eyed the floor in front of him, regret filling his chest. "I'm sorry about all that, too, Bobbie," he murmured. "I just wanted to let you know. I don't... I know it's too little, too late, but I'm sorry anyway."

"Answer me," she pressed him. "Is it?"

"No; we haven't hooked up, or fooled around, or anything, honest," JC assured her. "I don't even know if I still have a chance at a relationship. But Bobbie," he sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I told this person I'd end it with you before we did anything else. They took a huge risk letting me how they feel, so now I have to take a risk to even it out."

"How they feel? Or how she feels?" Bobbie asked, before blinking in realization at the use of the gender-neutral term. She drew back slightly. "It's a guy," she said, understanding. "Oh, my God. You're breaking up with me for a guy."

JC didn't respond, but the aversion of his eyes and the bowing of his head gave her her answer.

"You always said that was just a side interest, JC," she continued, trying to make sense of it. "You never dated a guy. You said you'd never date a guy. You said you just noticed and that was all." Her breaths became slightly shallow and she blinked back tears, and she stumbled as she backed into the toilet, her calves hitting the cold porcelain. Immediately she turned, walking slowly towards the opposite wall, and JC knew that she was trying not to wring her hands. He'd hoped that she wouldn't react exactly like this.

"Sometimes things just happen, Bobbie. I didn't plan it. But this is my way of being fair to him. I don't even know if it's gonna work out, but I have to put myself out there before we can give it a try. It means a lot to him."

"Who is it?"

JC licked his lips uneasily. "I can't tell you that."

Bobbie spun to face him again, and the look on her face was pure agony. "Just like that? It's over and just like that you won't even let me in to find out who's so special to you all of a sudden?" She held up a hand suddenly in surrender. "No, I understand. It's not my business. I might tell. I might write about it in my next 'scoop' article in J-14. Right?"

"Bobbie, I--"

"He must be very special," she murmured, seemingly unaware that he'd spoken. "You know? I'd just wanna tell him that the best man won." She held his gaze for a moment; his apologetic, hers saddened. JC couldn't think of anything to say. He'd already apologized; what more could he do?

The silence was broken by a knock on the door. "JC?" Lance's voice was muffled through the wood. "Is that you in there? I think we're supposed to round everyone back up, so..."

Bobbie watched JC for his response, watched his every nuance and how he turned to the door slightly when he heard Lance's voice, how he surreptitiously licked his lips, how he seemed to unconsciously reach out to touch the barrier with his fingers.

"I'll be out in a second," JC answered, biting back a wince when he heard how thick his voice sounded.

They both heard the footfalls as Lance turned to go, and wordlessly, Bobbie turned the doorknob and let herself out, leaving her ex-boyfriend behind. Outside the bedroom, she spotted Lance turning the corner and jogged silently to catch up with him.

"Hey," she breathed softly, touching him on the shoulder, and when he turned to her she was surprised to see a sudden guardedness.

"Hi," he said, his eyes flickering behind her to glance up the hallway. "So... you were with JC in there?" he asked casually, in an almost offhand manner, but Bobbie could almost imagine his hackles standing up. Reeer, she thought. He wasn't fooling anyone.

And then it all clicked into place.

"Lance, we were just talking," she rushed to assure him. "About how we're broken up now, and I need to start making myself scarce." She couldn't prevent a slightly bitter laugh at that, but she forced herself to meet Lance's eyes.

"He broke up with you?" He looked thoroughly surprised; she guessed that JC hadn't talked it over with him as she'd feared he might have.

"Yeah," she confirmed, and stopped him when he opened his mouth to apologize. "Don't be sorry. I just finished telling JC that this person he broke up with me for must be very special, and that the best man won." Slowly, she saw the recognition fill the green gaze, and the guardedness was gone, almost at once. "You don't trust him, though, do you?" she said, more a statement than a question.

Lance pursed his lips in contemplation, then bowed his head, giving an ashamed sigh. "I want to, but... he hasn't exactly got the best track record, you know?" he admitted.

"I know," Bobbie agreed, nodding. "But if he just wanted something on the side he wouldn't have broken up with me."

"I know, but--"

"And," Bobbie went on, "he told me that it meant a lot to you. That he be faithful. So even if he didn't give his word--"

"He gave me his word," Lance verified. "He promised me."

Bobbie tilted her head, biting her lip as if in thought. "Then that says it all," she said softly. "He never promised me. He never promised me anything."

JC felt the tickle of sweat rolling slowly between his shoulder blades as he followed Lance into the bedroom he had Bobbie had convened in earlier. Rehearsals had let up for the day, and as soon as Wade had given them leave Lance had approached him. "Come with me," he'd said, ignoring the plans the others were making for blowing off steam that evening, and led the way through the house in search of a quiet sanctuary.

JC reached behind him to lock the door but stood near the threshhold anyway, watching Lance's back as he wearily made his way over to the bed. Neither had said a word, and he tried not to let Lance's silence worry him.

"So... now what? Have you thought about it?" he asked, his hand still on the latch.

Lance shrugged, sitting down heavily on the waterbed's edge. The water gave under his weight, and he used its bouyancy to swing both feet onto the bed completely. "Now... I guess we talk."

"Haven't we talked enough?" JC asked, moving across the room as well. "I mean, I took a risk here. I ended it with Bobbie so we wouldn't have to just talk anymore." He sat down next to Lance's bent knees, and Lance moved his legs over so that he could make himself comfortable.

"JC," Lance began, averting his gaze and pressing his palm into the cushy bedspread, riding the minor waves he created with his fingers. "I'm... flattered... really. That you went out on a limb like that. I mean it." He folded his hands in his lap as he forced himself to make eye contact. "But I need to know what you want out of this, JC. I mean, do you just wanna mess around or do you want us to be together?" JC's hand faltered on his knee. Lance saw uncertainty flash across his face and rushed to continue. "'Cause I..." he licked his lips. "I don't think I could just mess around with you."

"Lance..." JC moved his hand from Lance's knee and slid up slightly on the bed, reaching out to touch his chin. He tried to explain. "You know me. You know what I'm like with relationships -- they don't last, I screw it up somehow... things don't work out. I told you; I don't wanna hurt you. I don't wanna make you a promise I can't keep. I promised you I wouldn't fool around, and," he gave a pitiful sigh. "I won't." He trailed his hand up the side of Lance's face, watching the way the younger man's eyes fluttered closed at the contact. "But can we just... not put a name to this just yet? Can I just be with you... and..." he sighed, and Lance opened his eyes but didn't pull away. "I dunno."

Lance licked his lips again, and this time JC didn't hesitate to lean in, pressing his lips to that softness, warm and moist to his touch. Against him, Lance exhaled, kissing him back, and he allowed his hand to travel back behind Lance's ear to cup the back of his neck. Lance trailed a hand up his side softly, coming to a rest against his ribs, and JC pressed him back into the bed, awkwardly climbing upon it to straddle the younger man. Beneath them, the bed wavered erotically, water swirling beneath the surface and bringing them closer together by its motions.

He felt Lance's hands move to his chest, pressing him away, and pulled back, confused. "Wait. JC," Lance breathed. "I don't think this is..." he turned his head slightly and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "This waterbed thing isn't working for me," he confessed, laughing lightly.

JC laughed as well, glancing down as he grinned, and he had to admit that his kiss had seemed hasty and a little desperate. "You're right; I'm sorry," he apologized, maneuvering himself backwards and climbing back off of the bed. He reached out to pull Lance up with him and stood flush against the shorter man's body. "So," he whispered, "does this mean 'yes'?"

Lance swayed forward into him, resting his head on JC's shoulder, and damned his uncertainties. "I guess it does."

seven

"Selsun Blue, huh?" JC commented, leaning back into Lance's ministrations as he read from the shampoo bottle. "I've never used this stuff before, so I'm trusting you here, man. This better not make me bald or nothing like that."

"You've been hearing me and every one of our stylists complain about how thick my hair is for five years now, and you think my shampoo's gonna make you bald?" Lance responded, then tilted JC's head forward with his fingers. "Down, boy. My arms are getting tired."

JC obeyed, bowing his head down until his chin touched his chest and slouching. "Lance? It's tingling. I swear to God, if my hair falls out--"

"That means it's working, darling," Lance cooed with a lisp, feeling JC's body begin to relax.

"Actually.... This feels so good, Lance...."

"If you start moaning like the Herbal Essences girl, you're washing your own damn hair from now on," Lance growled, and brought a knee up to nick JC gently on the butt before pushing the laughing man under the shower spray to rinse off. "You know, I think Chris is starting to suspect something about us," he mused, after a moment more of kneading JC's scalp.

JC scoffed. "Chris? What makes you think that?" He ducked his head out of Lance's grasp and turned them so that Lance was under the spray. "Back," he indicated, twirling his finger until Lance turned his back towards him.

It was Lance's turn to lean into JC's ministrations as the older man lathered up his back with a foamy washcloth. "Sometimes I'll catch him looking at me like he knows something, you know?" Lance said, unsure. "And don't you think he's been making more, like... weird comments lately? Like about us looking cute, or getting a room, or something like that?"

JC shrugged, reaching around Lance's body with the washcloth to pass the material over his chest and stomach. "I didn't notice, no. But hey, he knows he can say something to one of us if he wants to know what's up."

"I just don't like the thought of us not telling anybody, just letting the guys figure it out themselves and not having any control over it," Lance said, pulling out of his embrace. JC handed the washcloth to him, and he finished soaping himself up and rinsed off. "I mean, what if Chris does come to us and ask?"

"Then we tell him," JC replied.

Lance turned off the water and pushed back the shower door, stepping out ahead of JC. "Yeah; but first we wait. That's the part I don't like."

JC stepped out as well, grabbing the proffered towel and beginning to dry himself off. "We've been through this before. It's only been like a month."

"It's been like a month and we've been spending every night of it together," Lance pointed out.

"Yeah, and, well... I don't wanna drag the other guys into this while we're still sorting things out. Isn't this hard enough to figure out on its own, Lance? Without worrying about Joey and his wisecracks and Chris and his weird looks--"

"--Which he is already giving us," Lance put in.

"It's hard enough, Lance. Don't tell me you know exactly which way is up here."

"No, I don't know what this is, either--" he admitted, cocking his ear to the door for a moment. He swung it open and the shrill tones of his cell phone floated into the steam-filled bathroom. "Shoot," he muttered. "Forgot to turn it off. Anyway," he continued, slipping on his underwear under his towel, "If Chris finds out, will you agree to tell all the guys at once then?"

JC watched him retrieve his ring from the counter as he looked at the older man with a pleading expression. "Yeah," he finally agreed. "We tell them all at once. Sure."

Lance gave him a somewhat relieved smile. "I'll take what I can get, I guess," he breathed. "Thanks." His phone started ringing again, and he hurried to put his ring on as he glanced back out the door. "I better grab that," he moaned, letting himself out and closing the door behind him.

JC took his time in the bathroom, shaving and styling his hair before leaving. He emerged to find Lance fully dressed, propped up against the vanity with his arms folded across his chest. "Hey, you," he said, smiling, and Lance started, his gaze having been focused on a distant spot on the wall. "Who was it?"

Lance looked at him blankly. "What?"

JC raised his eyebrows and gestured at the bed expectantly. "On the phone. Who was it?"

"Oh." Lance blinked. "My sister," he mumbled, shifting out of the way so that JC could retrieve his toiletries from the surface behind him. "JC..." he began, a sudden agitation in his voice as he turned to face JC's reflection in the mirror. "Okay, look, on second thought, this sneaking around shit has got to stop. I'm serious; I wanna tell the guys today."

JC gave him a sidelong glance as he turned up his deodorant and began to apply it. "Lance, what, are you obsessed or something? I already gave you a perfectly good reason for waiting--"

"It was not 'perfectly good'," Lance cut him off, unfolding his arms. "It was stupid. It was an excuse. And I'm tired of making excuses. No, wait," he amended, holding up a hand as though in thought. "I'm tired of you making excuses."

"Huh? Me?" JC furrowed his brow, puzzled. He made his way over to his open suitcase and grabbed a pair of jeans, a button-down shirt, and wifebeater from the top. "Lance, you're the one who wanted to take this slow. You're the one who was trying to be reasonable about everything. I thought you'd at least see why it's better we wait a little before we go announcing things to the world."

"Not the fucking world, JC," Lance swore loudly, his hands making wider and wider gestures, "just the other guys. God, we can't even tell our friends we're fucking? Like it doesn't matter enough to mention it?"

What the hell is happening here? JC wondered, shrugging the button-down over his shoulders and leaving it open. He turned slightly from Lance's intense glare, suddenly feeling extremely unwelcome within his lover's hotel room. "What are you talking about? Of course it matters," he muttered.

Lance was shaking his head, lips pressed together firmly. "Since when has sex mattered to you, JC?" he asked simply, his voice cold and furious.

JC paused in fastening his jeans to look at him again, completely floored. That... hurt. JC had to admit that in the past he had had a rather cavalier approach to sex, but once he and Lance had started sleeping together, really sleeping together, he'd been surprised at how much he valued that part of their relationship. He'd never been able to understand why Lance considered sex such a binding force before, but now he'd come to see that what he got out of sex with Lance he didn't want to experience with anyone else.

"Hey, JC," Lonnie's quiet bass met him in the darkened hallway. "I think he's asleep, you know. I haven't heard anything out of there in over an hour."

"No," JC told him. "It's okay; I told him I'd come over late to hang out for a while. He's up," he finished lamely, berating himself for saying anything at all. If he were really going to 'hang' in Lance's room, he would never have thought to announce it. And it wouldn't only be for a couple of hours: when he went inside Lance was only going to call the front desk and get JC's wake up call forwarded to Lance's room, and JC wouldn't leave until after that wake up call was received.

"Pretty soon we're gonna have to start slipping Lonnie fifties to not listen at your door, Lance," he cracked after he'd closed the door behind him and started across the room to meet the younger man.

"We've been good so far," Lance murmured, threading his fingers through JC's hair as they kissed. "Good and quiet." His lips parted smoothly to allow JC access, and their tongues dueled, hands gingerly cupping each other's faces in restrained passion. When they broke the kiss, JC pulled back to see the blond's eyes glittering with excitement even in the dimness from the nightstand lamp.

"What?" He let Lance take him by the hands and lead him over to the bed, barely restrained glee in check.

"Okay," Lance started, taking a deep breath. "I called my mom."

"Uh-huh."

"And I came out to her. And Dad." Lance looked ready to leap off of the bed from the building energy in his limbs.

JC allowed his mouth to pull into a smile. "I take it it went well."

Lance nodded and ducked his head to hide the grin that spread widely across his face. "Well, they're not like, happy that I'm gay," he admitted. "But they didn't freak out or anything, and they gave me the 'we just want you to be happy' speech." He paused. "And then Dad asked me if I was having safe sex." He rolled his eyes before bursting into giggles, fueled even further by JC's own laughter.

"Did you tell him 'yes'?"

"NO!" Lance laughed. "I told him that wasn't even on my mind and he had nothing to worry about."

JC grinned and pulled Lance towards him, kissing his jawline. "Don't tell me that wasn't on your mind last night," he whispered against Lance's skin, as his hand slid under the hem of Lance's shirt, fingers hooking beneath the waistband of his jeans. He teased smooth skin and silky hairs, and leaned back as Lance pressed into him, his lips finding an earlobe to suckle upon.

"It's definitely on my mind right now," Lance breathed, tugging JC's shirt out of his jeans and working at his belt buckle. He withdrew his hands to slap either side of JC's thighs. "Did you bring anything?"

JC shook his head, swallowing back the lump desire had put in his throat. "No, I didn't think we--"

"Damn," Lance muttered against his neck, releasing him to reach into his own back pockets. "I think I have one on me...."

JC stopped him, amused by his sudden lust, his sudden enthusiasm for sex. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with Lance?" he asked, smiling.

Lance regarded him with those large eyes that seemed to take on an eerie glow, and shook his head. "Tonight's gonna be special," he said firmly, pulling the condom package from his wallet. "I'm happy, I'm horny, and I've got you." And he grinned again, kissing JC once more. "Let's make the most of what we got."

They fell to the bed in darkness then, in silence, a wordless agreement to leave useless words behind and allow their bodies to speak for them. They became fingers nimbly shucking too many layers of clothing, gingerly exploring exposed skin. They were at once exotic and fair, at once eager and apprehensive, at once lazy and rushed. They were a mass of flesh and limbs hopelessly entwined, of skin and hair slick with moisture. They were teeth nipping not-quite-virgin flesh in desperation, fingers and fingernails leaving impressions upon smooth skin.

They were bodies with backs arched and necks bared, lips hungrily grazing the hollows of throats, symbols of Christianity and astrology crushed to one another in an embrace so tight that the pendants seemed to melt together. They were the pain of penetration and the pleasure of being ensheathed in warmth; they were tears shed in discomfort and in sympathy. They were bright-eyed with desire; they were moans of delight and completion; they were sighs of exhaustion and satiated bliss. They were nonsense words breathed against sensitive ears and arms that held each other tightly.

Lance drew himelf up close to JC's back, tracing soothing patterns upon his shoulder and bicep. "I'm sorry if I hurt you," he whispered, kissing away any imaginary slight on his new lover's silky skin.

"I'm fine." He was sore. But he'd be fine.

"Are you sure?"

Had he ever felt such compassion during sex, let alone after? Had he ever expressed it himself? He didn't think so. "I'm sure, Lance." Was it because he'd submitted himself in a way, had allowed Lance to make the advance this time? "Was tonight special enough for you?"

He felt a warm pressure against his back as Lance rested his forehead between his shoulder blades, exhaling softly into the skin. "It really was. Was it for you?"

Was it because he cared more about Lance than anyone else he'd ever been with? "Yeah. It was great."

"You're so wrong, Lance," was all JC said, gently, in an attempt to placate the bundle of nerves before him.

"Sometimes I don't know," Lance admitted, arching an eyebrow at him pointedly. "I mean," he went on, tugging a hand through his hair, "ever since I came out, JC, ever since then, I've felt like everything else is little in comparison and..." he swallowed, appearing to consider his next words. "The sex matters to me, and I'm tired of feeling like this isn't important enough to talk about. I'm tired of feeling like I should be ashamed of being with you."

"I'm not ashamed of being with you, Lance," JC started, but was cut off again.

"Then what would you call it?" Lance hissed, narrowing his eyes, and if he'd been a cat JC could almost visualize his ears laying down flat against his head.

"You," he continued, taking advantage of JC's stunned silence, "have it so easy, don't you? You're bi -- which basically means you can pretend to be straight whenever you want. You don't have to own up to it. You can live the red-blooded American male dream if you want to. You can go fuck the groupies and then come back here to me and get the milk for free--" he grabbed himself suggestively, and JC's jaw dropped slightly at the forwardness of his actions-- "and never have to face the consequences. And when you're walking down the street and somebody yells 'faggot', you can turn your head and pretend they're not talking about you."

Lance only paused to take a breath. "So you know what? Fuck you. I don't need you. Let's break the fuck up and then you won't have to worry about telling anybody ever." The fight suddenly gone from his body, he spun and abruptly folded his legs beneath him, dropping straight down to the floor in front of the bed. He hugged his knees and tilted his head back, eyes wide and unblinking, gazing steadily at the ceiling.

JC regarded him silently for a moment, with shock and something resembling awe. Lance had never yelled at him like that before. Lance didn't blow up at people; Lance blew up at concepts. The sound equipment was faulty, or the hotel was overbooked, or he'd missed his flight. Never an irate "fuck you" right to anyone's face.

He moved to stand over the blond, attempting to meet his gaze without success. "Care to tell me what that was all about?" he asked softly, lowering himself gently to the floor beside Lance.

The wetness in Lance's eyes trembled, and when he finally blinked, huge tears burst from the sides, near-perfect spheres fully intact. He reached up and smoothed them away with a thumb, swallowing thickly. "Stacy's quitting," he said, his voice low.

JC tilted his head, almost fearful of the pain that he saw on Lance's face, and he shook his head, not comprehending. "What? What are you talking about?"

Lance heaved a light, shaky sigh, and rolled his head to give JC a look as though he didn't believe a person could be quite so daft. "She's quitting FreeLance; she resigned." He sniffled softly. "She's not gonna be part of the company anymore."

"Why? I thought you said she was okay with you being gay and all." JC couldn't imagine Lance's sister doing anything like that without good reason, and if she had any idea how hurt Lance seemed right now at her resignation, no reason might be good enough after all.

Lance licked his lips; a few more weighty droplets escaped his eyes and he smudged them across his face distractedly. "Ford said he'd leave her if she didn't. He doesn't want her working with me anymore." His mouth twisted with disgust. "'Cause, you know. I'm such a fag and all."

"Lance!" JC cried, astonished. "Jesus Christ, Lance. Don't ever say shit like that. What's wrong with her? Why doesn't she just tell him to get the hell out?"

"Yeah, JC," Lance grated out. "That'd just go over so well." He pulled his face into a carefully neutral mask, wet red eyes notwithstanding. "'Oh, did you hear? Ford Lofton left his wife.' 'Oh, really? Did he say why?' 'Yeah, it was something about her gay brother.' 'Hey, isn't her brother that guy from that group? What're they called? *NSYNC?'" He tilted his head back again. "She can't do anything about it without people knowing, JC." Sighing, he sniffled again. "I mean, I feel so bad for her, but this means I lose her, too, you know?"

JC simply looked on, feeling helpless. He reached out and rubbed Lance's shoulder gently for a moment, before slipping his arm fully around him and pulling him closer. Lance was tense in his embrace, but he leaned closer still, resting his forehead against Lance's temple and holding him tightly. "I'm sorry, Lance. I don't know what to say other than I'm sorry."

"Ford used to be so cool, Jace," Lance said quietly. "You know, he's the one who taught me how to drive a stick," he went on, mindless of the tears that slid down his temples, wetting JC's hair where it rested against his skin. "Like, people think Dad taught me, but," he shook his head. "It was Ford. We used to hang out, back before he proposed to Stacy, and he'd tell me how much he liked her and he wanted me to feel like a part of everything, even if she was with him and they ended up moving away."

Sniffling again, he rubbed his knuckles beneath his nose. "And now... he hates me." Lance raised his head then, jolting JC out of position. When he turned to gaze intently at the older man, JC could tell by the stubborn set of his mouth that he'd made some sort of decision. "I hate him too, now, you know," Lance stated plainly. "I don't hate people. I don't ever think bad things about people. But I really do hate Ford."

"You don't mean that," JC tried to soothe him. "Look, Lance; you're mad, and you're hurting--"

"No, no," Lance insisted, shaking his head. "No, see, I actually want something bad to happen to him. Like, death. Something painful. And really horrible. So he suffers. And if he, like--" the words got caught in Lance's throat, and he swallowed, blinking back more tears-- "if he died or something, then Stacy wouldn't have to live with his threats and all of his... just his shit that makes me so sick."

His was a barely contained rage, and now JC was positive that he'd never seen Lance this angry. He didn't like it at all, even though he now knew that it wasn't directed toward him. "Lance," he began carefully. "You can't sink down to his level, wishing harm on people. I know you're hurt, but hate just burns people up inside. You're bigger than that." He touched Lance's arm reassuringly. "Come on, now."

Lance flinched away from him, his eyes narrowing, and suddenly if his face was red with agitation before, it was ablaze now. "Fuck you, JC," he muttered. "You still have all of your family."

For a moment the world took on a tinge of red through JC's eyes. This was what he got for trying to help? Pressing his lips tightly together, he shifted from his place next to the man who didn't seem to want to be touched, and stood. "Okay," he said, his voice stony. "You know what? Obviously you need some time to yourself, so I'm going to leave you alone for a while, and maybe when I come back we won't both be ready to kill each other."

Unapologetic, Lance gave a noncomittal shrug and his eyes darted towards the door, as if daring JC to go.

"Fine then," JC whispered to himself, clenching his hands into his fists and stalking to the entrance. Flinging the door open, he strode outside, only glancing back when he reached behind him to pull the door closed. He saw Lance lower his head to his knees, pulling them up closer to his chest, and suddenly the younger man didn't seem so angry anymore.

After a brief moment, JC stepped noiselessly back into the room and slammed the door behind him. At the sound, something in Lance seemed to snap, and the blond gave a loud sob before quieting again. JC closed his eyes, leaning back against the door. Give me the strength to deal with this, he prayed.

"Lance?" he whispered, and Lance froze at the realization that he wasn't alone. He continued. "Do you really want me to leave?"

There was a pause, and then Lance shook his head slowly, forehead still pressed against his knees.

Well, then, that's all I need to know, isn't it? JC thought, starting back over to where his boyfriend sat. He resumed his place next to Lance, enfolding him in an embrace. And this time Lance willingly crumbled, burying his face into JC's shirt, his body racked with soundless sobs. JC held him, wondering what it would be like to have someone he had trusted turn on him, believe him something to be hated simply because they'd found out he was attracted to men; to lose his sister or brother to that hatred.... He wasn't surprised to find himself crying as well, even as Lance calmed down.

"I'm sorry," Lance murmured weakly into his chest, attempting to wipe away the wetness that soiled the clean shirt against his face and only succeeding in smearing it. "I'm sorry about what I said."

"It's okay," JC replied automatically. "I know you didn't mean it." Truth be told, he wasn't sure how much of it Lance had truly meant, but it no longer mattered to him. He was in this for the long haul, he realized; he and Lance had already made sacrifices to be together, even though they were unaware at the time. When he had decided not to walk away just now, it was representative of a grander decision. He wouldn't let something trivial come between them.

"Lance!" Chris yelled harshly through the door, pounding on it simultaneously. "Hello? Breakfast? Fifteen minutes ago? Wake the hell up!"

They stood up guiltily at the interruption, and Lance passed his hands quickly over his face as though Chris could see him before yelling his answer. "Chris, I am so sorry; I'll be out in two seconds, I swear." He turned for the bathroom in order to splash some cold water on his face and abolish the 'freshly crying' look, but JC stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked seriously, waiting for Lance's nod and reassuring smile before letting go.

Quickly shrugging off his shirt, he jogged over to his suitcase and pulled out a t-shirt that looked rather free of wrinkles, tugging it over his head and wiping his own eyes as he crossed the room again to open the door. "Hey, Chris," he greeted the older man, stepping aside to let him in.

"What are you doing in here?" Chris asked him, puzzled, and his lie was perfectly concocted before the pause became unnaturally long.

"It's my fault Lance is late," he explained. "See, I came over to talk to him about something, and I guess I held him up and we lost track of time. Sorry, man," he apologized, as Lance stepped out of the bathroom looking slightly more composed.

"Well, you guys... seriously, you gotta get it together and not hold us up again," Chris told them sternly, eyeing them both. If he thought that Lance's eyes were a bit swollen, he didn't mention it. "Come on; let's go." He held open the door, standing in the hallway as he waited for the other two to catch up. And if he saw the deliberate way in which JC reached up and toyed with the hair at the back of Lance's head, trailing his fingers down to rest at the small of the younger man's back, or the small smile the blond gave in return, Chris didn't say anything about that, either.

eight

It was a disorganized gathering, but necessary nonetheless. Almost every day, no matter what else came up -- or came between them -- the guys attempted to set aside an hour to spend by themselves, together. Working on the new album and tour had forced them into tight spaces for business purposes; where fun and friendship was concerned, however, they had hardly had time to keep up with one another. It was under the guise of 'business' that they spent this time with one another, but aside from occasional spurts of information about their individual efforts, the time was spent dissolving into conversation, jokes, or roughhousing. Or any combination of the three.

JC sat propped up against the arm of the couch in the dressing room, legs stretched out across the cushions with his feet pressed up against Lance's thigh. He watched in vague disinterest as his boyfriend listened with fascination to Joey's recounting of a date he'd gone on the previous night. Well, Joey was telling both Lance and Justin, but had turned his body almost completely toward the former, and it was taking on the characteristics of a one-on-one conversation.

Hoping that Lance would not object to the public display, JC slid down the couch slowly until the undersides of his thighs brushed Lance's hip, and draped his legs casually across Lance's lap. Joey raised his eyebrows at JC, pausing momentarily, but continued on. When his story was finished, he turned back to Justin and the two retreated slightly, chatting amongst themselves, while Chris started telling them about a distribution deal for FuMan that he was working on. Lance turned his head, shooting JC a smile of understanding, and dropped a hand to the couch, touching his fingers to JC's. Allowing their fingertips to brush over one another absently, JC scooted back just enough to pull in one leg and rest his socked foot gently between Lance's thighs.

"Well, that's about all I wanted to bring up," Chris was concluding as he made eye contact with each of his bandmates, leaning back in his chair. "So unless you guys got any ques--" he glanced in Lance's direction and cocked his head, his mouth still open. "what the hell are you guys doing, man?" he exclaimed softly, staring at their intertwined fingers. Immediately Justin's and Joey's heads swivelled in their direction, and JC carefully extended his leg as Lance bowed his head, blushing.

"Listen, are you guys trying to tell us somethin'?" Chris asked them. "'Cause, I mean, I love you guys, but I don't think I've ever held your hand and put my foot in your lap, so I'm guessing this isn't just a friendly thing."

"Whoa," Justin interjected, watching Lance's hand drift to JC's knee and massage it lightly. "Wait. You guys are... what, what are you doing? What, are you flirting? Messing around with each other? Experimenting?"

"We're not experimenting," Lance told him firmly.

"Hooking up? Friends with benefits?" Joey ventured a guess, and the couple exchanged glances, seeming to debate the terminology themselves.

"Not friends with benefits, guys," JC argued, then looked back at Lance for confirmation. "I guess it's more like we're... dating?"

Chris tucked in his chin. "Dating like you and Bobbie are dating?"

JC pursed his lips. "Actually... me and Bobbie broke up even before the two of us even started doing anything."

"Shit," Joey breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. "How long has this been going on?"

JC shrugged and sat up, lifting his legs from Lance's lap but sitting impossibly close. "Maybe a month, five weeks," he estimated, and Lance nodded in agreement.

"Dude, that's before the tour even started," Chris observed. "And Bobbie's still hanging around? You did tell her you guys are broken up, right?"

"She knows, Chris, and we invited her along anyway," Lance spoke up. "JC felt like he was shafting her, and I wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings between us."

"And you wanna make sure she won't spill to J-14," Justin added, reading between the lines.

Lance shrugged. "We gotta cover all our bases, right?"

Joey's gaze darted between the two men sharing the couch that seemed more a tiny loveseat, shoulders and thighs touching, fingers laced together. "So how serious is this, guys?"

"Serious enough that we thought of telling you," Lance said quietly.

"So... I mean... is that it for the updates?" Chris asked, gazing at them both steadily. "Anything else you think we oughta know, think we oughta be informed of?"

"No, that's it," JC confirmed, shaking his head, and his arm snaked behind him to wrap around Lance's waist. "We just wanted to make sure you guys were okay with this. Chris?"

"Hey, I'm totally okay with it and everything... just... just keep it between us, you know? Be careful. In more ways than one. I don't need to tell you that."

"Of course," Lance agreed. He met the stares of his other bandmates. "Guys?"

Joey put up his hands in surrender. "If you're happy, I'm happy. That's all there is to it."

Justin nodded. "Me too. There's nothin' else to say."

Chris stood up, stretching. "Then meeting adjourned," he announced, and the rest unfolded themselves, the sounds of joints popping and creaking filling the room as they rose to leave.

"Hold up, JC," Joey called softly as the rest filed out of the small dressing room. Justin and Lance glanced back at them when JC paused, but Lance simply dropped his hand from JC's hip and moved past him, edging Justin from the room, to leave the two alone.

"Something bothering you, Joe?" JC said, stepping toward the taller man. He passed his fingers over his upper lip nervously; the thought of being cornered about... well, he just knew Joey was going to ask him something about Lance... made him feel lost and anxious. Lance was better at defining these things than he was. Lance was simply better at these things than he was.

Joey studied him carefully for a moment, letting him sweat it out, before speaking. "Chris had the right idea when he asked if it was like you and Bobbie with you and Lance. I mean," he snorted, "when you say you're dating, when you say it's serious, what does that mean?"

JC shrugged uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck. "I dunno what you're trying to say, Joe. All I know is I haven't been with anyone but Lance ever since me and Bobbie broke up." His face took on an intense cast. "And I haven't missed it. I know that much, too."

"So it's not just sex with you two," Joey mused, partly asking and partly confirming.

JC shook his head slowly, his jaw set resolutely. "No, it's not. It's really not."

Lance's hand, growing slick with perspiration, began to slide down the wall of their hotel room, and, struggling, he lifted a leg to rest his foot upon the arm of the nearest chair. The hands at his waist, slick with their own sweat, gripped him securely, holding him steady. "I got you, Lance," JC whispered against his neck as he bent his knees and thrust again. "I got you."

He pressed his mouth against the crook of Lance's shoulder, pulling Lance's hips down to meet him, sliding easily within the younger man. Lance's own gasps for breath and the soft thud of his head hitting the wall in time with their thrusts were his only reply; JC was mildly concerned that the blond would wind up with a concussion if he kept it up. Something about repetitive stress that he thought he'd read somewhere. He allowed himself to be amused by the thought of explaining that to his groupmates, to management. Concussion caused by vigorous sex? That would have PR on their toes.

He raised his mouth to Lance's then, their breaths mingling easily between them, half-formed kisses exchanged against damp skin, tongues licking against lips already parted. The sounds of their moans filled the room with the unmistakable music of sex, though he could no longer tell whose moans were whose; Lance's voice became higher with arousal, JC's deeper. Withdrawing almost completely, he forced his tongue past Lance's teeth and staked the territory within as his own as he plunged into him again. Lance whimpered in delight and streaked his nails hard down the back of JC's bicep, and JC repeated the action.

The sting of the mild scratches faded as JC dropped his head to rest upon Lance's collarbone, and he found his nose pressed against the cool metal of the cross that his lover wore. Idly wondering why Lance's body heat didn't conduct through to the opposite side, he closed his eyes and allowed his nose to warm the symbol. His thoughts began to swirl into a haze of confusion and all he could think of was how Goddamn hot and tight Lance was around him -- was it possible to feel so good inside someone? -- as he sped up, thrusting harder and hearing the thuds increase in intensity. The sound now spurred him into a frenzy and he groaned deeply, biting down gently on the soft skin above Lance's collarbone.

Between their clothed upper bodies he could feel the thick heat of Lance's erection pressed against him. With every thrust -- harder now, and faster; he was close, and Lance was squeezing his biceps almost painfully, nails digging half-moons into his skin -- he made an effort to rub his stomach against its length, hoping that the fabric of his t-shirt would arouse rather than cause discomfort. So far Lance hadn't expressed any complaint, but he lowered a hand between them to lift both of their shirts anyway, feeling Lance's skin rub against his own and hearing his lover's answering groan.

He felt the warm dampness of Lance's climax hit his chest and stomach in waves, glancing up to see the bottoms of Lance's pale eyes roll past his eyelids, watching those eyelids flutter unconsciously, watching those parted lips form into an 'O' of release. Lance's head hit the wall again, the loudness of the sound making JC wince, and then it occurred to him that perhaps Lance enjoyed the contrast of pleasure and pain. It seemed so unlike the younger man... the thought further enflamed JC's blood even as Lance's muscles clamped down tightly upon his arousal, wringing his own orgasm from him. He crushed his lips to Lance's, feeling a moan rise up in his throat, and released the sound into his lover's mouth, the vibrations causing them both to shudder anew.

Lance's knees gave out first, and JC allowed his weight to pull them both down to the ground as he withdrew and carefully removed his condom. They sprawled out on the floor, their laboured breathing the only communication between them for a long moment.

"Wow," Lance ventured eventually, his voice soft with wonder, and JC had to laugh. Lance, whose idea of experimentation was bottom-on-top sex. Lance, who had argued the physics of having sex up against the wall. "I mean, logistically speaking, JC," he'd said. "I'm not some girl in a skirt who can just wrap my legs around your waist or something. I'm gonna fall on my ass and it's gonna be bad for the both of us."

"See what I told you?" JC asked him, reaching out to touch him on the shoulder. "Take a walk on the wild side once in a while, Lance; you can't go wrong."

"Well," Lance said, seeming to reluctantly concede, "now I've got all this shit on my shirt." He chuckled, tucking in his chin to examine the damage as he plucked disdainfully at the fabric that stuck to his skin in streaks.

"It's your shit, Lance," JC pointed out wryly, getting to his knees. "Messy sex is fun sex. The better to shower with, my dear," he added, as he rose to his feet and extended an arm to the younger man. "Come on; half an hour 'til soundcheck, right? Twenty minutes, New York time? We have enough time for a quick one."

Lance let JC pull him to his feet, tearing his shirt over his head with his free arm. He sighed haughtily. "Please don't say anything that'll remind me we'll be filming that show in 5 hours."

JC laughed, leading the way to the bathroom. "Don't tell me you're still bitching about a little stage fright."

"Stage fright, camera fright, ten freaking million viewers at home fright," Lance muttered, shuddering automatically when JC spun him around and tenderly kissed his upper back, kneading his neck, shoulders and biceps. "I wish you could do this onstage," he moaned, leaning his head back to rest on JC's shoulder, and JC kissed the side of his neck.

JC tugged him towards the bathtub and started the water running. "I'll come up with something," he stated, checking the temperature with his hand. "Right now, I've only got twenty minutes to give you a full body massage."

"Fifteen, now," Lance corrected him.

"Twenty," JC repeated. "We'll be late." Starting the shower, he grinned widely. "Get in."

"So now that we're alone," Justin said, folding up his menu at their private table and leaning forward on his elbows, "what were you guys up to that you were so late to sound check? Hmmm?"

Lance rolled his eyes. "Give it a rest, Justin. We apologized like a million times."

"It's not like we don't all know what you guys were doing, anyway," Joey commented, opening the third butter packet in the basket to butter his roll.

"You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals--" Justin started singing.

"You guys," JC scolded them. "If you have to be all up in our business, we were late because I was giving Lance a backrub to settle his nerves about tonight. All right?"

"Backrub?" Chris raised an eyebrow. "Like none of us recognizes a euphemism when we hear it?"

"Oh, and by the way, guys, thanks for the mental image of you two having sex," Justin added. "All that thumping on the wall and shit. I mean, what were you two doin' in there, recreating World War II?" he asked, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"Okay, shut up, Justin," Lance finally mumbled, glancing down at his menu.

"Recreating Woodstock," Chris suggested, turning to JC. "Isn't that right? 'Make love, not war'?"

JC gave him a Cheshire cat-like grin. "You know what? I'm not even getting into this anymore."

"Wait," Joey interjected. "Which Woodstock? '69 or '99?"

"There was only one Woodstock, Joey," Chris explained. "There was Woodstock, and then there was Crapstock."

"All that thumpin' on the wall couldn't have been the headboard, could it?" Justin asked no one in particular.

"Shut the hell up, Justin," Lance repeated, scowling when JC snickered, and he felt heat tinge the tips of his ears. He hadn't read a line of the menu yet, and lifted a finger to help him follow the lines of the offerings.

"If it was the headboard, you must've been bangin' the holy hell out of it," Joey observed. "Which one of you are havin' trouble sitting right now; show of hands?"

"It wasn't the headboard!" Lance sighed, agitated, and dropped the menu. "God, just stop... thinking about it and let's eat. Wanna split a fish platter with me, anyone? Chris?" he asked pleadingly, hoping to change the subject.

"Well, how many body parts, really, can make that sound?" Justin pressed, fully willing to see how much further embarrassed Lance could get. "I mean, maybe if your legs were...." He made an awkward gesture with his hands, attempting to illustrate whatever strange image he had in his mind.

Lance dropped his forehead to the table in frustration.

Justin paused, staring at the top of his friend's head for a moment. "That's it!" he exclaimed, pointing excitedly. "That was the sound. That was it." Chris and Joey burst into childish giggles while JC simply shook his head in amusement, and Justin smiled, proud with himself. Then he reconsidered. "Your head?" he asked, incredulous. "Your head was hitting the wall?"

A sound between a whimper and a moan escaped Lance from the table's surface, and JC finally intervened, reaching out to rub his back comfortingly. "Okay, J," he warned Justin, "I think it's gone far enough."

"Where were you five minutes ago?" Lance asked him, face still pressed to the table.

Justin had leaned back, falling completely silent, and a pensive expression graced his face. "You know what? I'm sorry I know now. There are a million new visuals running through my head right now, and I don't know if I'll ever get them out." He made a face and shuddered. "Ugh. Now I'm embarrassed."

"You think that's bad?" JC countered. "You're visualizing us having sex. How do you think we feel?"

Lance clenched and unclenched his shaking hands into fists, watching the others as they participated in their legendary pre-show ritual of hackeysack. Don't miss the hackey, he repeated to himself, and started to bite his lip before remembering that he already had his stage makeup on and he'd eat off the lipstick. The last thing he needed before going on-air for a televised special was to feel jinxed, and if he missed the hackey his turn around, that was exactly what would happen. Do NOT miss the fucking hackey.

Hackey successfully tossed around, group prayer recited, hugs exchanged, and the crowd was chanting for them, their cheers audible through the thick door that separated them from the backstage area. And he knew from the looks JC was shooting him that the older man was concerned. They were all a few notches more nervous than usual for this performance, but he knew that his terror likely showed on his face, knew that their makeup artist had had to put extra blush on because he was so pale underneath the layers of foundation, knew that his eyes were a bit too wide and he couldn't seem to make them relax. He knew he looked like a deer caught in headlights and it killed him.

"Give us a second, Dré?" JC requested as he trailed behind the others, raising his eyebrows at the hulking bodyguard holding the door open for them. Dré looked at him doubtfully, and he repeated the request. "Just one second. Please." The larger man glanced over his shoulder where the other members of the group would already be getting prepared, and nodded slightly, leaning forward and allowing the door to swing shut behind him.

JC turned to Lance and placed his hands on his shoulders. "Hey, no sweat, right?" he asked, giving Lance a squeeze and smiling lightly at him.

Lance's mouth pulled to one side in an attempt at a smile. "Ten million people. No sweat." He swallowed and pressed his lips together in thought. "Unless I throw up. Then, sweat."

JC laughed at him. "Look at it this way; it's not the President, right? Here, if you feel like you're losing it, just look at me."

"That's supposed to relax me?" Lance chuckled, aware that it came out sounding slightly hysterical.

"Calm you, yes," JC agreed. He pulled Lance closer to him under the pretense of straightening the lapels on his costume. "Just keep your eyes on me and I'll give you your focus."

"I can't do that when I'm introducing God Must Have Spent," Lance pointed out.

"Sorry," JC drawled wryly. "We'll have to change the staging of that next time, then." That at least earned him a smile. "Look at me," he commanded, and Lance met his gaze and held it. For a slow count of ten, he fought to calm his own adrenaline rush and willed every ounce of serenity to the anxious man in his grasp. Through their half-inserted earpieces, they were warned that their mics were about to go live and where they hell were they; that they needed to be out there five minutes ago.

"Eyes on me," JC whispered, releasing Lance, and as he backed toward the door, Lance leaned forward and met him with a light peck on the lips, careful not to smudge them.

You better know what you're talking about, Lance thought, as they rushed past Dré and quickly harnessed up for the show.

nine

Puffing out his cheeks, Lance held the liquor he'd just gulped in his mouth for a moment before swallowing, wincing slightly as he felt it leave a burning path down his throat. He'd asked for a Jack and Coke, but he suspected that this particular glass was heavy on the Jack. Tilting his head back, he scrubbed at his face with his hand, feeling its warmth and knowing that the flush of alcohol had settled upon his face.

Beside him, JC shifted in the booth. When Lance glanced over to see what he wanted, the older man was looking distractedly in the other direction. But he soon felt a light, warm pressure on his knee and smiled, knowing that JC had laid his hand out, palm up, silently asking for his touch. Lance reached down, wiping away the cool moisture from his drink glass before placing his hand within JC's, allowing his boyfriend to warm his cold fingers.

Chris had come to the club with them, but had begged off long ago, and now Lance had no idea where he was. Joey and Justin had arrived together some time later, and they were similarly AWOL. He supposed he could have gone off with Chris and made the rounds, socializing and chatting with the people he recognized in the area, but when the offer came he'd declined; he'd wanted to drink a little first, get a buzz going. He wasn't sure why JC had elected to stay at the booth with him, but he suspected that the older man was hovering.

It wasn't something that JC did often once they'd settled into their relationship. At first they'd both been overly cautious; Lance taking advantage of their proximity to assure himself that JC was indeed going to stay faithful, JC going to lengths to show Lance that he could behave. After the first couple of nights out, however, they felt comfortable enough to make it to the dance floor separately, and when Bobbie came along Lance felt fine leaving the two to spend time with one another. It had been difficult, balancing his uncertainties with his need to trust JC -- anyone he cared about enough to sleep with, really -- but the more he saw JC trying, the more he felt that he was making the right decision.

Taking another swig of his drink, Lance wiped off that hand as well before flipping JC's hand over on his knee and unfolding his fingers away from the palm. He met his boyfriend's grin when he looked over, his attention grabbed, and began tracing absent patterns on the exposed palm. Smiling at the way JC's hand twitched at the ticklish sensation, he drew a happy face, enclosing it in a circle, and closed JC's hand over it. He considered drawing a heart, but he wasn't sure how JC would react to that.

He allowed JC to pull his own hand free and trace on his palm. Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on the feel of JC's fingers on his skin and see if he could figure out what JC was drawing by touch alone. H. i. Lance blinked his eyes open and flashed JC a large grin.

"Hi back at ya," he responded. JC returned his grin, and Lance went on. "You know, JC, why don't you go out there?" He gestured to the dance floor. "You don't just have to sit here, you know. I'll probably go out there in a little while; I just wanna have a few drinks in me first."

JC waved his comments off flippantly. "No, it's all right; I'll stick around." With that, they withdrew from each other's grasps and put some distance between their bodies once more; a few moments of closeness might pass notice, but they couldn't be touching each other all night. After some time JC began to beat out a rhythm on the table, and when Lance turned to see it, he noticed that JC was jiggling his knee anxiously as well, seemingly preoccupied with something. He gazed at JC from beneath his lowered lashes and wondered when his boyfriend had turned into Chris.

Watching as JC twirled his hotel key card between his fingers, Lance considered asking him what was bothering him even though he knew that JC wouldn't talk unless and until he was ready. They had never really discussed the underlying issues behind Lance's outburst the day Stacy had submitted her resignation from FreeLance, aside from his mentioning occasionally that he missed her. At times like those JC would simply hold him in silence until he felt a little better, and he appreciated that support more than he could ever say. A lot of what he'd said that day was meaningless and simply him lashing out in anger, but he knew that he had worried JC and sometimes the older man grew pensive as though he were trying to size Lance up, to see how much of what he'd said rang true.

"Hey, you two," Joey shouted to be heard over the dance music. His hair was beginning to wilt under the weight of his perspiration, and his face glittered slightly. "Aren't you comin' out onto the floor? It can't be interesting just bumming around at the booth."

Lance considered it, and thought Joey might be right. He'd have time to sit and talk with JC back at the hotel; right now, with the music all around him, and a good drink in his hand, he'd be crazy to pass up the opportunity to dance and have a good time on the floor. Before he had a chance to reply, however, JC spoke up, answering for them both. He had graduated to tossing his key card casually in the air a few inches before catching it with one hand.

"Actually, we'll... we'll meet you out there, okay, Joe?" he called, careful not to yell directly in Lance's ear. He chose instead to lean behind Lance, holding Joey's gaze steadily until the latter nodded, his breath still coming in pants from his exertions on the dance floor.

"All right, then. I'll catch you guys later. Don't spend too long over here, though," Joey warned good-naturedly before turning and heading back off towards the gaggle of girls who would undoubtedly surround him in no time.

Lance faced JC, a smirk already on his lips. "You got something better for us to do, JC?" he asked teasingly. He was beginning to get bored. He hadn't really thought about it until Joey'd brought it up, but he'd had his drinks and now he wanted to get up and dance. What the hell could they do at the table besides stare at each other, anyways?

JC shrugged and opened his mouth to reply, giving a half-hearted toss of his card as he did so. The plastic object slipped through his fingers when he moved to catch it, and tumbled below the table into the darkness. "Shit," he murmured. "Hang on." His head ducked as he slid himself under the table to retrieve his card, and Lance pulled his legs in to give him room, sighing. Yeah. It was really boring at the table.

He spilled a little bit of his drink when he jumped at the sensation of JC's hands on his knees, but soon relaxed into the older man's soothing touch. The corner of his mouth pulled up in the barest of smiles, feeling able fingers trail slowly up his thighs. He found himself squinting a little, however, smile fading from his lips, when JC's fingers brushed between his legs and seemed to linger there.

"JC," he hissed, as his eyes flickered downward and he reached below the table to brush JC's other hand from his knee. Just find the damn key and get back up here, he wanted to add, but the sweet pressure JC was applying to his growing hardness was tempting, and he didn't really want JC to stop. For the first time that evening, Lance desperately wished that he'd worn jeans to the club, rather than dress-casuals.

Lance rested his chin in his hand and allowed his gaze to roam around the room as JC continued to stroke him, and his legs drifted further and further apart. Sighing, he couldn't prevent his hips from shifting uncomfortably as his pants grew decidedly too tight, and immediately felt JC's strong grasp on his hip, holding him still. Then his zipper was being eased down, and his mouth dropped open in relief, his eyes closing.

JC freed him from the confines of his underwear then, wrapping warm, smooth fingers around his length while holding his hips immobile. Lance pressed his lips together, rolling his eyes behind closed lids, and bowed his head. He imagined that he could see JC's fingers touching him gingerly, and suddenly he felt the warm wetness of JC's tongue, trailing a path from the base of his erection to the tip, and he had to hold on to something. Giving a slight, abrupt shake of his head, he gripped the edge of the table, exhaling deeply and hoping that he didn't look too much like he was getting head to passers-by. Or to Lonnie, who was standing mere feet away, keeping autograph-seekers at a distance.

JC's mouth opened to take him in, lowering halfway and pulling back up, working slowly and carefully on his arousal while his fingers kneaded the base. His method was deliberate and repetitive, and just right, Lance thought, as JC gave a few pumps with a closed fist, using his saliva for lubrication. His hand passed over the tip of Lance's erection and was quickly replaced again by his mouth, tongue swirling eagerly over the tip and tasting the moisture that had gathered there.

The increasing pressure with which JC had to prevent Lance's hips from bucking up told him that his lover was close. That, and the musky wetness that he felt against his tongue as he licked at Lance's hardness. One more minute... he thought, closing his fist around the firm length once more and stroking Lance repeatedly. Against his elbow, Lance's leg began to tremble, and he smiled. He removed his hand then, lowering his mouth onto Lance as far as he could comfortably take without gagging.

"Hmmmm..." Lance hummed softly, hunching himself directly over his drink when he felt the tip of his erection graze the back of JC's throat. He wondered if he would feel it if he poked himself in the eye with his straw. Probably not, he thought. He wanted nothing more than to reach down and run his fingers through JC's silky dark hair, to thrust into that hot, teasing mouth and feel that wetness envelop him as he rode the pleasure into oblivion and screw what people thought if they saw.

Oh, to hell with it.

Sliding his hand beneath the table, Lance began to pry at JC's fingers at his waist, silently beggging for leverage, even for a moment. JC lifted his hand only for an instant, pinning Lance's hand beneath his own, and resumed what had become a frantic suction. He bobbed his head upon Lance's hardness, pausing only to nip teasingly at the tip periodically, before going down one final time.

His teeth grazed the base, just gently.

Lance's entire midsection spasmed with the force of his orgasm, a low groan erupting from his pursed lips, and both feet lifted from the floor. JC pulled back quickly, swallowing with care but keeping his mouth over Lance's penis until he felt Lance's hips settle into the seat and his thighs cease to quiver. Lance reached down and pushed weakly on his forehead, too sensitive for further attention, and JC retrieved his key from where he'd placed it beside him before gingerly tucking Lance back into his pants and climbing up to his spot.

Lance was holding the cold glass of his drink to his temple with a shaking hand, chewing on his lip and obviously out of breath, when JC emerged from below. "Found my key," JC told him lightly, holding up the card with a smile, and resisted the urge to wink. He took a sip of his own drink, savouring the coolness after the undeniable heat of the previous minutes. He was a little hard now, too, but figured he could wait until they got back to the hotel to do anything about that. "Wanna dance now?" he asked, wiping his upper lip free of perspiration. He felt great.

Lance allowed his drink to slip the two-inch drop through his fingers to the table, and rested his head back against the wall. "Not anymore." They could talk later; now he wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel and reciprocate.

JC awoke suddenly with a gasp, adrenaline and a feeling of desperation coursing through his veins. Taking a few deep breaths, he glanced around the dim hotel room, trying to get his bearings. Against the length of his arm he could feel the warmth of Lance's back. When he turned his head he could see his lover laying on his stomach, his head on his arms, the paleness of his skin barely illuminated in the faint light.

The shortness of breath returned, washing over him like a trapper's net, and JC knew that he had to get out of there. Slipping out of the covers slowly so as not to disturb Lance, he padded across the room to the sliding doors that barred entrance to the balcony. Pushing those aside, he stepped out on to the deck, feeling a blast of cool air hit him from the late night breeze that swirled high above the streets and walkways. He left the doors slightly ajar and leaned over the railing, gazing out over the city skyline, and ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. He imagined he could hear the odd car honking, the odd ambulance or police siren wailing in the night, even at this distance.

He'd been having dreams like this for some time; puzzling dreams that awakened him, the details already growing fuzzy in his mind. The one feeling that always stayed with him was that of suffocation. He was feeling smothered. Trapped. Pinned to the ground with no means of escape. Was this was their relationship would be like? Was this what monogamy was about? Was this what he'd feel every time he attempted to commit himself to someone that he cared for?

JC bowed his head, closing his eyes in defeat, and wiped his hands over his face wearily. He hadn't promised Lance anything beyond faithfulness. He didn't know if Lance was falling for him, or if what they had was all that serious -- whatever that meant. Life-long partnership? Eternal love? -- but JC was certain that he didn't want to lose whatever it was that they had. He'd already come to enjoy the feeling of being able to take Lance into his arms whenever he wanted to. He liked to share a bathroom, and, on occasion, the shower. He liked that he now knew how Lance would fall asleep at his laptop and JC would need to take him by the hand and drag him to bed. He liked the way Lance thought it was ridiculously romantic the way they'd lost their virginity to each other.

He didn't like that being with Lance was making him feel so helplessly cornered.

"God," he muttered, at first uttering it as a curse, then turning to prayer as a last resort. He folded his hands and rested his forehead above them. "Please don't let me do anything stupid. I'm always doing something to mess up a relationship, and I'm always hurting people, and this is one time I don't think I can afford to screw this up, God. But I can't do it alone. I can't make this relationship work on my own; I'm gonna need some help here."

The wind picked up slightly for a moment, sending a chill through his body and goosebumps prickling up on his skin, but JC continued. "I really believe that Fate, Destiny, You, whatever -- decides whether things turn out one way or another, and I just need to know if this is someething I need to fight for. 'Cause if it's meant to be, I will. Just... give me a sign or something." He sighed. "I don't know what I'm looking for, but I need to know before we get too serious and we both get hurt. But mainly Lance. Before Lance gets hurt. Please. Heavenly choirs of angels or something." He chuckled then, no longer quite as morose. "A bolt of lighting from the sky saying 'Go This Way'. Or--"

"JC?"

JC whirled around upon hearing his name to spot Lance peering through the slight opening in the balcony door. The blond was leaning up against the doorpost, clad only in the pajama bottoms he'd slept in. "Hey, Lance," JC answered lightly, his mind spinning. How much had Lance heard? Had he heard anything? "How long have you been standing there?"

Lance stifled a yawn into the back of his fist and flattened his hair distractedly with the other hand. "I just woke up. I heard you talkin'. Who're you talkin' to?" JC had to smile at that, hearing the drawl heavy in Lance's voice, and wondered if the younger man was really awake at all.

"Nobody, Lance," he answered. "Just thinking out loud."

The doors slid further open and Lance made his way sleepily across the deck, leaning against the railing as though it were the only thing within miles that could hold him up. He shivered slightly at the breeze, and JC stepped nearer to him, reaching out with one arm to rub his bare back. He ran his hands over the smooth skin and placed his chin on Lance's shoulder, watching him watch the skyline below.

"JC," Lance said suddenly, breaking the pensive silence between them just as JC was about to kiss the tender skin in front of his ear. "Is this too much for you?"

JC pulled back slightly, dropping his hand, and he could tell that Lance noticed the loss of contact. "What do you mean?"

Lance shrugged and bent over, leaning his cheek on the railing and watching JC out of the corner of his eye. "I know relationships are hard for you and stuff, and I wondered if maybe you were feelin' like you wanted to get away from me." The accent was still prominent, but there was an underlying clarity to his voice that indicated he was more awake than he seemed.

How Lance had come to read him so well, JC would never know. "I dunno," he said evasively. "I don't have a problem with the way things are, really." He replaced his hand on Lance's back and started up the rubbing again. "You don't have to worry about anything," he tried to assure him.

Lance closed his eyes. "You sure you don't need space, JC?" Before JC could respond, he went on. "I don't have a problem with it if you do. You can tell me; I'll understand."

JC simply turned his head and looked out over the city, unable to bring himself to say the words, and hoped that his lack of response would give Lance the answer he needed.

Lance nodded against the cool metal. "I'll start stayin' in my own room after tonight if you want, okay?" JC remained silent, but stilled his hand against Lance's back. The younger man straightened, yawning again, and leaned against JC to give him a peck high on his cheekbone. "Okay then. In the morning. I'm so tired.... I'm goin' back. You comin'?"

He had to clear his throat before responding. "Yeah... yeah, I'll be right in." Pausing for a beat to give Lance a head start, he turned to watch Lance sidestep through the sliding doors before following himself, closing the doors behind him. Once inside, Lance's exhaustion seemed to hit him full force once more, and he walked right into the bed before crawling over it to reach the far end where he normally slept. JC shook his head in amusement as he watched the blond get back under the covers; from the immediate settling of his muscles, JC knew he'd fallen asleep virtually as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He got in behind Lance, rolling over to lie on his back, and stared blindly up at the ceiling for some time. Their bodies no longer touched, and aside from the body heat radiating from Lance next to him, he could almost pretend that he was in bed by himself. He supposed he should be happy. Space. Lance was giving him space. Without argument, without suspicion, without a guilt trip. Without a request. JC wondered what more he could ask for; it seemed too perfect to have fallen into his lap like this.

A bolt from heaven it wasn't, but JC knew that it was the clearest sign he'd ever get.

Lance scowled as he tossed his cologne into his overnight bag, packing his possessions to take them back with him to his own hotel room. His hotel room in which he hadn't slept; he hadn't spent a night in the rooms assigned to him in days, and the previous week JC had been the one spending time in Lance's room. And now he was going to go back to his room. Alone.

Me and my big fucking mouth! he berated himself, tossing his head angrily. He shouldn't be held responsible for something he'd said when he was half-asleep. It wasn't that he didn't know what he was saying; he'd been aware, but he hadn't thought ahead to how he'd feel when he awoke in the morning and was hit with that feeling of despair, knowing that he'd given JC an easy out and that if JC had even considered ending things, now would be as good a time as any. He didn't know why he'd woken up in the middle of the night wondering if JC needed to get away from him -- after all, they'd both given up so much to be together and he knew that JC cared about him -- but seeing JC out on the balcony, the weight of years on his face, had gotten him thinking. And if JC was feeling choked by their closeness what else was he supposed to think?

He was so glad that they only had a couple of days left on this leg of the tour; he needed some time to regroup. Badly. And maybe when they returned, it wouldn't hurt so badly to be near JC and not know if they had a future together.

Right, he scoffed, zipping up his suitcase and heaving it into the corner of the room near the door. He sat down on the bed heavily, folding his arms, and waited for JC to get out of the shower so that he could get this over with and leave already.

When JC finally emerged he was clad only in the towel cinched around his narrow waist, and Lance had expected that but still fought the urge to stare, his gaze lingering on the light dusting of hair on his pectorals, on the ridges of muscle that lined his stomach, on the trail of dark hairs that began at his navel and he needed to stop thinking about that right now.

"Oh," JC observed, his face falling slightly when he spotted Lance's position near the door. "You're ready to go already?"

Lance nodded, pursing his lips and summoning as happy an expression as he could. "Yup; I was just waitin' for you to finish up in there... so..." he stood. "I guess now I'll just take my stuff over and see you at breakfast."

JC nodded back, opening up his own suitcase and pulling on a pair of shorts. "Well, that's only in the next fifteen minutes though, right? I mean, you can still hang out in here until we have to go." He tugged on a t-shirt and continued. "Look," he suggested. "Why don't you just wait 'til we roll into Joliet tonight and take your room then? It doesn't make sense to move back in for like 10 minutes."

Lance shook his head. "No, I think it's a good idea if I just go. If we're..." he sighed, "cooling it down or whatever, it's... I should go. I should go," he repeated softly, reaching over to retrieve his suitcase. And blinked back tears. And wondered why knowing he was doing the right thing wasn't making him feel any better. And prayed that he would make it to the door.

"Lance," JC called after him when he had his hand on the doorknob, and he froze. "What I'm asking you to do is stay."

He shook his head again, not turning around. "JC, I meant what I said last night. If you need space I'm willing to give it to you if it means we can stay together in the long run. I'm not gonna sit here and let you think I'm guilting you into being with me, okay? Don't feel bad that I'm going; just... just take your time figuring out what you want," he muttered.

He knew that JC was crossing the room even as he spoke, and sure enough, he felt the warm softness of JC's fingers caressing his shoulders through his shirt, felt JC's breath tickle the back of his ear. "You said it best back when I kissed you that first time," JC whispered. "I want you. I thought for a second, last night, that maybe I couldn't handle it if I was gonna be with you for a long time, but something made me see I was wrong." He paused as though trying to phrase things in his mind, then went on, rushing the words. "Okay, look. I want you to stay because I think I'm in love with you."

Lance spun almost abruptly in his grip and pinned him with a gaze so intense that JC had to fight the need to step back under his scrutiny. He stood still, allowing the younger man to search his eyes for sincerity, for truth, for what he had only ventured to guess at before but now felt to be the most honest and straightforward thing he'd said in their relationship. Why had it taken until now to realize it? Why had he waited? Why had he almost let himself lose Lance, the most unexpected catalyst for the most unexpected changes in his life? It didn't matter now; it wasn't too late. He hoped it wasn't too late.

Lance fell back to the door after that long, searching moment, and let out a breath. "I wanna stay because I know I'm in love with you," he admitted softly, with a hint of sadness around his eyes.

"Do you?" It was the only thing he could think to ask, heart pounding in anticipation, eyes wide with hope, his grip on Lance's shoulder white-knuckled although he knew he wasn't holding Lance too tightly. "Then stay," he prodded, not bothering to wait for a response, dipping his head slightly and kissing Lance, closing his eyes and revelling in the feel of soft lips against his.

Lance stayed.

ten

"Nuh-uh. No way," Justin protested, shaking his head firmly, and slapped the table with the palm of his hand. "I say a year."

Chris eyed him with incredulity. "A year? You're out of your mind. Loosen that friggin' bandana, Timberlake. It is cutting off the circulation to your brain." He pressed his lips together tightly. "I'll say it again; no more than six months."

Justin stood his ground. "JC will not be able to get his shit together in six months."

"Lance will not put up with JC's shit for a year," Chris countered.

"Joey," Justin pleaded, turning to the other man present. "Help a brother out here. You know JC as well as I do."

Joey grunted and leaned back against the couch, propping his feet up on the table. "Yeah, J, but..." he shrugged. "JC's been behaving all this time, you know."

The younger man snorted. "Guys! It's not like Lance is keeping him in line or anything."

"No," Joey agreed with him. "JC's keeping himself in line for Lance."

"How long is that gonna last, though; I mean really?" Justin challenged.

"If they're in love?" Chris asked, rubbing his goatee pensively. "As long as they want it to."

"I know they're pretty much in love, but, I mean, it takes work," Justin pointed out. "I mean, Lance trusts him; we've talked about that before, but I don't see how JC can just stop doing everything he's been doing all these years and suddenly turn devoted boyfriend." He paused. "I love JC, but you know I'll kick his ass if he plays Lance."

"I don't think he's gonna. Maybe he's never had anyone worth settling down for before," Joey suggested. "Come on; you don't think you could stop looking at every other woman and devote all your time to Britney if you really wanted to?"

Justin shrugged uncomfortably. "I dunno. If I really wanted to, maybe. I've thought about it."

"Well, I bet if you really loved her, you would."

"Could you just stop messing around on Kelly if you wanted to?"

It was Joey's turn to shrug. "Ask me when I'm in love."

"So Joey, you never answered. How long before they start talking about sharing a place?" Chris posed the question again.

Joey bounced his knee upon the table and hummed, eyeing the ceiling as he thought up a response. "I say any day now."

"Okay, now you're the one who's crazy," Justin chuckled, giving him a hard punch in the thigh. "They're not that in love, no way."

Joey reached up and tugged the bandana from his friend's head, ignoring his protests. "Maybe not, but they both fall fast."

"Care to wager on it, fellas?" Chris suggested, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I've got fifty that says they cave within half a year. Joey says even less than that. Justin says a year. Wanna put your money where your mouth is?"

Joey shook his head slowly, unsure. "I don't know... Lance goes to Justin about stuff. He might have an edge on me and you, Chris."

Justin raised his hands in surrender, before retrieving his bandana from behind him and untying its knots. "Lance doesn't tell me everything; just some stuff. Don't count on me having the inside track."

"Okay," Chris began, "We'll give ourselves a window of error. Anywhere between today and say three months, and Joey wins. Anywhere between three and six months and I win. Anywhere between nine months and a year, and Justin wins."

"Wait; can I change mine?" Justin inquired. "Gimme between six and nine months."

"Sure," Chris said absently, writing down the terms of the bet as he spoke.

"Why the change of heart?" Joey asked him.

Justin shrugged, retying his bandana at the nape of his neck. "They might be closer than I thought before," he mumbled, suddenly remembering about the ring Lance had given JC for his birthday.

"Okay, um..." Lance started nervously, opening and closing the container within his hands. "I've never bought anything this big for him before, so I'm kinda like, I don't know if he'll think it's too much or if he'll like it or wear it or..." he trailed off, aware that he was rambling. "Can you just tell me what you think he'll think about it?" he asked, and thrust the open case into Justin's face, squeezing his eyes shut as though fearing rebuke.

Justin peered into the container, taking in the graceful platinum band and the subtle sprinkling of diamonds that decorated the top of the ring. His first thought was that of course JC would love it, that he'd have to be crazy not to. But he reminded himself that this wasn't for him; it was for JC. JC wasn't a man for jewelry, and rarely if ever wore rings. Still, this was understated and classy, and there was also the fact that it was coming from Lance.

"It's beautiful," he breathed, still examining it carefully. "He's gonna love it, guaranteed," he assured Lance, then grinned widely, his eyes crinkling like a child's. "You're gonna get so laid after he sees this."

Lance laughed at him, taking the package back from Justin, and shook his head. "That's not why I got it, Justin."

"Oh, so the sex is just a side benefit?" Justin asked, his voice full of mirth.

"Well-- no, the-- I..." Lance began. "Maybe?" he admitted finally, raising his eyebrows uncertainly, blushing when Justin laughed at him.

"So," Justin asked, growing serious now. "Is it just a birthday present? Or is it, like... I dunno what you'd call it," he shrugged helplessly. "A 'something more' ring?" He watched Lance carefully, waiting for his response.

Lance kept his gaze down, removing the ring from its place in the case, and slowly turned it over within his fingers. "I don't know what you'd call it either," he sighed. "You're right; I didn't wanna make it more than just a birthday present. I got it engraved, but I just had them put 'JSC' in it, 'cause I didn't wanna..." he rolled his eyes, "like, that's so cheesy, you know? 'Love always, JLB' or whatever." He threw up his hands in surrender. "I don't know. Yeah, it's just a birthday present," he stated, seeming to make the decision only then. "I can give him something more some other time."

How could he have forgotten? It was practically a promise ring as far as he was concerned, even if Lance didn't want to admit it, and JC had adored the ring so much that he'd gone so far as to wear it for occasional performances. He began to wonder if maybe Chris and Joey were right; JC and Lance were moving awfully fast in the relationship. But Lance prided himself on his pragmatic approach to things; he didn't simply jump into making decisions, and even when he seemed to act impulsively, more thought had gone into his actions than most people would suspect.

Then again, there was something about his relationship with JC that made Lance more inclined to act on his instincts. Justin frowned. He wished that this little moment of enlightenment hadn't come just now.

"All right, then," Chris announced, turning the paper on which he'd been writing around so that the other two could examine it. "These are the terms. Everything to your approval?"

Joey extended an arm and shook Chris's hand briskly. "It's a bet," he conceded, turning to Justin and shaking his hand as well. "May the most astute man win."

Justin glanced at him as he shook Chris's hand. "Astute?" he repeated.

Joey shrugged. "I have a vocabulary, man. You should try using yours sometime." He grinned and was about to continue when Lance opened the door and peeked around it into the suite. Chris pulled back from Justin as though the younger man were on fire, and flipped the paper containing the terms of their deal over.

Lance smiled widely at them. "Hey, guys," he called, slightly out of breath, and his gaze focused on Justin. "Just, can I talk to you for a second?" With that, he withdrew his head and pulled the door closed behind him.

Justin shrugged at the others, and Chris watched him carefully as he stood and strode across the room to meet with Lance. "Remember, you can't use what he tells you against us. And we shook on it already; you can't change your mind!" he called after him. Outside, Joey and Chris could hear their hushed voices as Justin and Lance spoke and resisted the urge to head over to the door and eavesdrop.

After a moment, Justin stepped back inside, closing the door carefully before stalking across the room, a petulant expression on his face. Rummaging through his duffel bag, he retrieved his wallet and pulled a bill from inside, thrusting it into Joey's hand. Turning to Chris, he ignored Joey's whoop of victory and jerked his thumb in the Italian's direction. "Pay him," he commanded, dropping his wallet and turning to stalk back over to the door.

"Hey, man," Joey yelled. "Isn't this good news? You should be happy, shouldn't you?"

Justin turned and smiled his crowd-pleasing smile at Joey, turning up the wattage. "Oh, I'm happy, Joe. I volunteered you for all the heavy-lifting duties when JC moves into Lance's place."

"First thing, we need to get us a dog," JC said, arching his back slightly with a stretch before relaxing again, resting his head upon Lance's chest. "You still want that beagle?"

"Hell, yeah," Lance responded, his arms propped behind his head where he lay on their bed. Then he paused, considering it. "Do dogs get along with ferrets and chinchillas?" he wondered aloud.

JC snorted. "Who cares?"

"I care. I'm not gonna get a beagle with you if it's only gonna, like, eat my chinchillas."

"Okay, I didn't wanna say this," JC confessed, "but I gotta admit, I hate your damn ferret. I don't like your pets, Lance."

"You will grow to love Dirk," Lance assured him.

"And what if I don't?"

Lance shrugged. "I'll have to beat you up," he said casually, and flexed his pectorals beneath JC's head, ignoring the older man's laughter. "No, but really," he continued. "Ferrets are like the best pets ever. Once you get used to their little... like, pellet poop they leave you on the kitchen floor," he chuckled, "they're pretty cool."

"I'm just saying," JC sighed dramatically, "that if you leave me to pet-sit your chinchillas I can't guarantee that they won't meet in an 'accident' while you're gone. OW!" he cried, when Lance freed one hand to pinch his nipple.

"You hurt my babies and there'll be hell to pay," Lance told him. "But you just got out of pet-sitting duties," he added with a smirk that he knew JC couldn't see.

"Hey, you say that like it's a bad thing," JC shrugged. "It's not like I'm not gonna clean house or cook for you or anything."

Lance sighed happily and rubbed JC's injured nipple gently through his shirt. "I get a maid and sex. I am truly blessed. You know," he added, "I'll cook for you, too."

"I know you will, 'cause eventually you'll discover that I suck at cooking."

Lance smiled to himself but didn't reply, and they fell into a silence once more while he played with the hairs on JC's arm where it stretched across his stomach.

"I just want you to know I never really thought you were ashamed of me," he said suddenly, his voice quiet, though JC could feel the bass rumble in his chest.

JC knew what he was talking about without having to ask, and shook his head. "I'm glad you told me that," he stated truthfully, "'cause I never was. I never was ashamed of being with you. Scared, sure, at times, but not ashamed."

"I know," Lance replied, and JC listened to the soothing sound of his breaths, rhythmic and relaxing beneath his head.

"But," JC contributed, "you were right about it being easier for me than you; being bi and everything. I wouldn't want you to feel like you're alone in this, 'cause you're not. Okay?" he asked, tilting head so that he could watch Lance out of the corners of his eyes.

Lance trailed his fingers down to JC's hand and took it within his own. "I don't feel like that," he admitted. "Maybe I did a little, once, but... back then I was..." he shook his head. "Just freaked out and worried in general, I guess. That you'd back out if the going got tough."

JC winced, glad that Lance couldn't see it from where he lay. "There was a time when I would've," he confessed. "I've changed so much though." He squeezed Lance's hand. "You've changed me."

Lance's stomach contracted underneath JC as he giggled. "I didn't change you. I changed a lot myself, though."

"How so?" JC wanted to know.

He felt the shrug and was initially met with silence. "Back at the beginning of the tour there's no way you could've told me I'd be getting ready to move in with you by the end of it," Lance pointed out. "That's just insane; we haven't even been together six months yet."

JC tilted his head further back and smiled at up at him. "I guess I taught you how to go with your gut and trust your feelings, eh?"

Lance grinned back and cupped his face in his free hand. "I guess you did," he agreed. "Did I teach you anything?"

JC mulled it over for a moment, enjoying the loving motions with with Lance was stroking his cheek. "You taught me that it's possible to feel complete with one person if it's the right person," he said thoughtfully. "You taught me that sex is more than just a physical act." He reached up and grasped Lance's hand, pulling it to his mouth and kissing his fingertips. "You taught me that I can agree to dodge ferret poop for the rest of my life."

Lance laughed and pulled both hands free, pushing at JC's shoulders. "Get off me," he cried, not even bothering to feign anger.

JC rolled off of his stomach and crawled up the length of his boyfriend's body. "No," he growled, propping himself up with his elbows on either side of Lance's head. "I love you too much to let go of you now," he promised, dropping a kiss on Lance's mouth. Lance held him close, sighing, and the kiss became more of a lingering caress. Finally he pulled away with a slight chuckle.

"God, I made you into such a sap," he exclaimed lightly, tracing JC's brow bone with a light touch, and JC shrugged in response, smiling down at him. "I love you, too," he said simply, abruptly serious as he met his lover's soft gaze, and continued stroking his skin. "But I made you love me, so I must've done something right."

Descending for another kiss, JC allowed himself a smile against Lance's lips. "Something like that."

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